


Mar de Voces

by TA_Hybrid



Series: Recogiendo Pensamientos [2]
Category: Coco(2017) - Fandom, El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera
Genre: A very good beanpole, Actual Coco Background Characters, Aftermath of Torture, And writing about them for Fictober, Babysitting, Bad Decisions, Bone Collectors, Borrowing OCs, But he is so added that tag, Can't believe I forgot John was a priest for a moment..., Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Creepy Cruises, Crossover, Curiosity, Death, Department of Afterlife Affairs Workers, Doctors, Fictober 2018, Good Smaritan, Héctor is a good beanpole, Héctor's antics cause trouble, Implied Torture, Implied kidnapping & imprisonment, Minor Spoilers, Moderate Violence, Most of these aren't my OCs, Mostly Canon Compliant, Murder, Nobody is paid enough for this, Nosy Reporters, OC Stand Ins, OC Tober 2018, OMG a wild canon character appeared..., Orphans, Other, Purple Prose, Religion, Revenge, Rivera twins are good boys, Shantytown, Shotgun Wedding, Showcasing my adoration for those created by this fandom, Since y'know, Some minor vent, Stalking, Symbolism, The Riveras are a good family, There's a few fight scenes at least now..., Trial of Peers, Well that's an AU..., What a way to end this collection, alebrijes, because wow, mental issues, oneshots, or at least Implied Stalking, this... is getting darker as I go, though that's not focused on..., trial, vampire, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 34,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TA_Hybrid/pseuds/TA_Hybrid
Summary: Fictober prompts and stories, in combination with OC-Tober, showcasing various OCs I've gotten permission to write about from the Coco Locos Discord Servers.





	1. Marcel Berezi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you feel this?"

His life ended suddenly, the agonizing pulsing pain his lower back, the constant nausea, dizzying headaches. All of it was just gone suddenly. The only warning he'd had was a sudden onset tiredness. A seeping weight in his limbs that made moving that much harder, a creeping fog in his head that made him hum, eyes drooping and he's barely aware of those around him.

He blinks, and there are skeletons.

Well okay before that he stands in front of a door in a passage and has to step forwards and through but still. He blinks and there are skeletons. Paperwork and chaos and it's a whirl of events before he's stepping of a train.

He's met by distant relatives he's never met. People who he can't be bothered with. It only takes a few short days to run away, the fussing bothering him. He's an  _adult_ , nineteen years old. He can take care of himself. He can live on his own.

He has a job before the end of the week. Working in a mailroom. He keeps this job until the summons arrives. One of the Department Workers meets him at the Post Center and he gives them the blandest look he can as they awkwardly explain that his brother has just arrived.

"That's nice..." he eventually says, rolling his eyes in their sockets. "Tell Celio I'm not interested in seeing him right now"

"What, but he's-"

"Mi Hermanito... I know!" he cuts them off, shaking one hand dismissing. "I don't want to see him." and he shuts the door in their face, not interested in anymore of the conversation. A few hours later he's flipping through some lost letters from the Land of the Living trying to remember the correct stamp to use. Red, blue, green, which ones are to be prioritized for when-

There's a knock at the door and he groans. His skull drops down and he turns slightly, just barely enough to glare in that direction. Before he pushes himself up. Almost dramatically he makes his way there, on the other side is a familiar face. A familiar skull, he pauses for a moment, hand digging into the wood of the doorpost before he slams it shut again.

Not even waiting.

There's another knock, and he groans. Sinking down, the door between himself and his brother. Between him and his family, between him and-

He buries his skull into his hands, letting out a miserable shuddering groan. He'll have to face him at some point, he's more than aware of that, but for that moment. There's a door that's a barrier a gap between them. But deeper than that, there's an ache in his ribcage a pain that he can't name at just the simple fact that he's here.

It's not fair.

A deep breath, arms that fold over his knees and he raises his skull just slightly. He's not going to open that door, he's not going to face Celio.

So he pulls himself up, pushing himself from off the floor and striding across the room. He unlatches and pushes the window up. It's the start of a familiar game.

* * *

How many jobs does he cycle through?

Deliveries, flower shop, salesman, butcher.

Too many. And the latest job is a mistake. An incidental thing. He doesn't mean to end up doing it. But he'd been annoyed, pushed to the very limits of his ability to deal with things. A pesky skeleton that he'd seen around a few times.

A well-intentioned idiot, but still an idiot. Tobías Itzal. The yellowing skeleton had taken to following him around, and it was  _grating_. He might have been nineteen physically but still, he was an adult and had been around for a fair amount of time by that point. So he had a few bad habits.

There was a group he was familiar with.

Accidents happen.

He makes a decision on a whim, and takes a back street, making sure that Tobías was still following up until he reached the dead end wall. Crumbling and dark it's the perfect spot, the kind of dark corner alley where one expects to find trouble. He leans against the wall and looks at the man eyes narrowed and glaring through his fringe.

"Hey... so you're kind of an idiot you know that?" he says, before he bangs one fist hard on a nearby trashcan. The resounding sound of bone on tin makes him grimace, but it catches the attention of those who he wants. And he nods his head to the men, strangers, before slipping away.

Later he realizes his mistake when he's cornered by a blond  _gringo_  with slicked back hair and a malicious smile. "I think it'll be in your interests to work with us..." he swallows, dry and empty, but hearing the threat.

He takes to the work almost too well.

He mostly plays lure. Finding people, targets and leading them away. Leading them into alleys and traps and...

He finds himself curling up in the night. His alebrije sleeping over his head and he just lies there.

"Can you feel this Celio?" he whispers, reaching with one hand. A maniac grin slips over his face, pulling at the side of his face. "Can you feel their suffering?"

* * *

The first time he actively participates, he's had a rough day. The man is already screaming, demanding with much swearing that they let him go and he just.

There's a harsh clang as the crowbar connects with the man's skull, a hasher pressure in the back of his cranium. A Buzz of energy through his bones, and he hyper focuses.

"You have no right señor, no right to demand of us anything!" he gets their approval, and finds that he enjoys it far too much. That night he sits in the darkness and stares at his hands. How many of their family went into medicine, tearing limbs off is familiar. Shoving things down people's throats, washing water over them, and humming it's all familiar.

But not in this context.

Lure, break, rinse and repeat.

It's a pattern, and he grows used to it.

Another job, another day.

He finds himself staring at people, taking stock of their bones and doing the maths in his head. Figuring it all out and mapping out his plan. Will they burn them? Break them, is that person crumbling enough to just yank them apart piece by piece. He takes home a skull at one point, tells it his doubts and fears.

It disappears.

Lure, break, rinse and repeat.

Green, blue, the alebrijes of this world are amazing, and after he can't take a child, he runs. He runs away and hides. An alebrije preserve where he puts down his head and miserably wonders what his life has become. How did he reach this point?

There's a bird singing somewhere and...

A voice.

He stands up, feet moving in that direction and he stares. Eyes wide and a pulse in his ribcage. The feeling distantly familiar as he watches a stranger sing and perform with their alebrije. Amazing.

"Can you feel this?" he mumbles as the other abruptly shudders, and he snaps himself back around. Curling his hands up, covering his stupid grin. "Can you feel this?" he repeats, mind spinning.

How, interesting a stranger.

_Green eyes sure are pretty, not a common sight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcel belongs to my good friend Liani! From the Coco Locos server, and boy, wasn't he someone to start this off with...


	2. John Johnson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People like you have no imagination."

He still struggles sometimes, to understand why he's here in this skeleton purgatory. He was a good loyal Christian in life, he never defiled himself with the Pagan beliefs of the nations, so why was it that he was here? It didn't matter, obviously he was there.

As it is he wakes up and blue eyes stare at the roof of the hotel room he calls a home here. It's not perfect, but little is these days, and it's something. It's something, it's a place that he can stay.

He starts the morning as he does every morning, taking out his old well-worn bible and settling in to read. To take the time to just meditate on the words of the Lord and prepare himself for the task that he must continue with even here. If he is to help these souls move past this place. To go beyond and up to Heaven rather than down to hell.

He prays. A soft and silent plea for the strength to carry the message to all.

A small meal, and he straightens out his clothing, pockets his bible, readies himself with a breath and steps outside.

Not many people take the time to listen to his message as he walks around. Some of them nod along, others just keep walking. He's not surprised, not many listen to the message. It was even foretold-

Music blasts, horrible, horrible music that he's going to end up stuck with in his head for ages. It drowns out his latest speech and he raises his eyes up, softly pleading in the back of his mind that it's not going to be.

"Hey Juan!" that grating voice. "Do you like the song?"

"It's John!" he says voice as even as he can manage as he turns to face the most hopeless person in the area. The reporter that he'd been talking to gives a glance before racing off with a cheerful call. And he huffs. "Do you-"

The music blasts louder cutting him off and that small bird sings along and he sighs.

"What's that Juan?"

"John!" he says, voice slightly more on edge. He forces himself to stop, take a breath. He can't get angry it would be-

The volume goes up and he doesn't need to look around him to know that the streets have emptied. People retreating to escape the horrible song that's on repeat. He takes another breath, closing his eyes and pressing one hand over his forehead. To the cross marking there and silently under his breath muttering a prayer.

Heaven give him the strength to deal with this ridiculous mess.

Heaven give him the strength to be able to help all those here.

"Please, would you turn that music off?" he asks, letting out a breath and settling his blue eyes on her. She continues to smile, letting the music play and her small bird continues singing. Peeping really along with the song. "It's disturbing the peace." he says voice as firm as he can manage and she rolls her eyes in her sockets.

It's grating, and he grits his teeth as she continues to grin at him.

That smile, it's such a blissful one, a smile that says she's got too much going on in her head. And it makes him itch to tell her the solution, look to the heavens, look to the Lord for Salvation, put your hope in-

"People like you have no imagination."

"I- What?" her voice breaks through, the music finally being turned down. A perplexed frown pulls at his face as he stares at her. Trying and failing to comprehend what she's just said. "I, of course I have imagination, I imagine mys-"

"You let a book tell you who you are and who you should be!" she cuts him off, voice oddly lilting and cheerful and something curls behind his ribcage as her eyes meet his and there's this feeling like she's looking into them and seeing so much more. "You're letting it control who you are. People like you have no imagination!" she nods her head, more assured in her statement this time and he can feel his hands curl.

He can feel the tremble in his bones, the growl building up in the back of his throat. He takes another breath, and shakes his head.

"I can see that-"

"None of us are interested in your message!" she again cuts him off, a tilt of her head. "You best carry on. Not much for a priest to do here!"

"The Lord has given me-"

"Nothing, you need to get over that book. Look around you, take in the world and appreciate it!" she rolls her eyes again, and when he opens his mouth to start preaching to her properly, explain what she can do to save her soul. The music plays again.

Blasting out and he can't even follow her as she leaves.

Leaving him standing there in the middle of the street. He turns his eyes skywards, takes a breath, slips a hand in his pocket and fingers his bible.

For just a moment he considers-

But no, he has a task, an assignment, and he'll carry it out. He's doing the Lords work, so people may persecute him, but Jesus told them that they would. It's expected. So he prepares himself, a deep breath, and he shakes the dust from his sandals.

And he continues on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Johnson is also not my OC, he's a character born in the Coco Locos server by Pengy, Rainy and Luna. Enjoy my take on the white boy priest.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also you people have no idea the disconnect considering my own John... pfft~~


	3. Alejandro Grillo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How can I trust you?"

It's the soft chords of a guitar that lures him out. Soft almost melancholy and yet still sweet and soothing. It's like a siren drawing him out. The halls are quiet and he's one of only a few guards who're on duty and he's following the strums of a guitar. A gentle melody that makes something in his ribcage stir.

He eventually finds the source, an open door to the balcony overlooking the night time view. Sitting up on the railing, legs dangling into the abyss is their mansion's guest. Head down, and fingers dancing over the strings on the guitar he's slightly curled around.

Lost to the music, a small hum echoing between the notes.

He steps forwards, footsteps light over the marble floors, only wanting to hear more. And maybe to see if the other man was alright, the night air is cool and he's in nothing more than a T-Shirt and shorts.

His shoes make a squeak when he takes another step and there's a jarring twang on an off-key chord. The other man gives him a quick glance something in those eyes, for only a brief moment before he's slumping himself over his guitar once more. Not looking at him as he moves closer.

Soon he's leaning against the railing just beside the man, waiting.

There's a period of silence, just sitting there. Before softly, almost too quietly to hear the other man speaks.

"What do you want?" hands curl around that guitar, one leg drawing up resting on the railing as the man awkwardly shifts almost hugging the instrument.

"I heard the music" he says, voice soft. "I merely wanted to listen..." he says, watching as the man shivers, hands running slightly over the strings. Phalanges just barely tracing the strings. Almost hesitant, it's almost like the man wants to play again, but is scared to. "You're not cold are you?" he chooses to ask rather than inquire about that fear.

"No..." the other frowns, eyes momentarily drifting to him, a certain wariness there before they're looking away again. "This is nothing..." there's a tremble in the smaller(if only in build not stature) man's bones.

"Are you-"

"Yes!" the word is almost a snap, before the man is pulling in on himself, trembling mumbling an apology before he can say anything. He frowns, not believing the man's claim. He looks out into the night for a moment, trying to think about- "Why are you still here? I'm not playing anymore..." the words are forlorn, soft, and he looks back at the man.

"I just," he pauses, searching for the right words. "I want to know if you're alright." he eventually says and length and again, there's that look, the one that says the man doesn't believe him. "you're sitting out here in the cold and playing in the night. Isn't it cold? Aren't you lonely?"

"No..." the man says, raising his head just slightly and shaking his head. Eyes dart for a moment, looking back into the mansion. "This is nothing, I like the view..." he glances out, taking it in for himself. The lights of the Land of the Dead around them, so much like a starry night sky, but sprawling out into hills and mountains, with the night life movement of people in the streets.

"I suppose it is quite a view..." he nods his head, before curling himself over the railing and looking once more at the other. "Are you sure that you're alright out here? Do you want some company?"

"I..." there's hesitance there, and the man is almost ready to shake his head, before he nods. "That would be nice..." the music starts up again slowly. Coaxed out in a few moments between breaths. Breaking the still but only in that quite way a mouse might down in the corner. Almost as if it's trying to go unnoticed.

"Alejandro." he breaks the man's concentration rather abruptly. Starling him into another off chord. "My name, it's Alejandro..." he says, and while he already knows the other man's name, he waits. There's a shaky breath, a small look at him.

"Héctor..." there's a pause, the man curling around his guitar again, eyes looking out into the wash of lights in the distance. Something searching in them, searching for what? "I... it's just... How can I trust you?" there's a moment where his brow pulls in, sockets crinkling and mouth pulling tight.

The moment passes. And he stops, looking suddenly at the smaller man again. Taking in the yellow on his bones, the dull state of them. Bandages and wrappings, that constant subtle tremble that can't be from the cold when he considers where the man's from. Where he's been, a small look back into the building, considering.

There's a turning gear in the next look that the man gives him. Something in those eyes, and before he can react Héctor's sprung up and caught his free hand, looking at him with wide eyes, an almost eager look. Recognition there as well.

"You were the bouncer at Ernesto's party last Dia de Muertos right?" his mind blanks for a moment, thinking back to that party. He can vaguely recall, there's a momentarily glow, a realization of where else he recognizes their guest from aside the whole fiasco afterwards. "Maybe you could help me! Show that I can..." he trails off, falling silent and just looking at him with those eyes.

A silent plea.

He doesn't know how to react, staring at the waiting man for a moment. Just taking in the situation.

"Por favor..." he lets out a sigh, turning away from those wide pleading eyes as he answers. Not able to find it in him to say that he probably can't.

"I'll... see what I can do. I'm-" He's cut off by a sound that's pure joy. Before he can react there's an engulfing hug, almost too eager and excited. His glasses are knocked askew for a moment as seconds later there's a grateful kiss to the side of his skull and he's released with a small awkward laugh and pat to the side of his mandible.

There's a moment where he just stares at Héctor who gasps, hand covering his mouth as he realizes his actions and turns sheepish. If the man's apologizing he's not hearing the words staring at him with a smile. It's an expression he can't help even as Héctor laughs his own actions off and turns with a cheerful wave and leaves into the building.

He remains there for a few moments just staring, one hand resting on his own cheekbones, before it all catches up.

His hand drops down, and his brow pulls together considering the situation that he's found himself in. He agreed to help, and there's an eerie feeling in his ribs. A constricting feeling in his throat as he turns to stare out at the rest of the land of the dead. Stare out into the night.

He agreed to help.

But with what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's everyone's favourite dorky bouncer from Ernesto's party. As named and developed by Papergardener, Frosty, Dara and Tomatosoupful over at the Discord.


	4. Ophelia Veracruz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Will that be all?"

 

Really her job was rather simple. She did cruises, _horror cruises_. She just had to smile for the most part. Smile and drive the boat. Tell stories that would haunt the night and travel the underworld of the Land of the Remembered. Routes often forgotten or skipped over by the more luxury cruises. The rivers that ran black and where cobwebs crowded out the caverns overhead.

Where glowing lights of unseen alebrijes danced overhead like stares and nightmares came alive

That was her job.

That was her  _public job_  anyway. Privately the cruises served another purpose, a purpose that was not as family friendly. Although seeing kids on the Nightmare Cruises that she led was incredibly rare, most families not letting their children close no matter how sweet and innocent her act as La Abuela del Lago was. Some people still didn't trust it. And that was fair enough.

Despite her sweet smile and amazing homemade cooking, she hid a poison in her gaze. Soft eyes that watch as people come and go, discussing her rather unusual décor as they wait for the event to start. Many leave, crowds come and go, and many leave never to return but there are a few.

Less remembered, or in the background. Loners keeping to themselves.

She watches, and lets her partner and post-death husband Jorge, affectionately known as Tio Jorge take over the cruise for a while. He might not have the same kind of presence as her, more of a calming kind of oblivious sweet presence, but he can also tell the same stories. And people act like he's scaring them, no one wants to hurt him.

It's all good as she makes her way with silent steps over to those who're lingering off to the side and on their own.

Easy and vulnerable.

"I do hope you're enjoying the cruise" she says, a smile curling up on her face as the other skeleton jolts. Attention caught.

"I ah, Sí" the stranger says, awkwardly answering her and shifting in place. The stranger is relatively young, keeping clear of the crowds and barely able to look at her. Looking instead out into the waters that the ship is going through. "It's... interesting." they say, almost sounding bored.

There's a growl in her ribs at that tone, something that she hold onto, keeps from breaking out, instead smiling just that little bit wider and sweeter.

"Oh!" she rests her staff down, banging it slightly on the wood of the deck below them. A quiet signal. Something that would go mostly unnoticed. In the water there's a ripple, a subtle movement. Up near the front her husband is still speaking, voice loud and carrying.

Bright.

"It's interesting. But those tales are just stories." the other skeleton rolls their eyes in their sockets. Gaze focused elsewhere, not even paying her any attention anymore. "Hanging dolls and cobwebs, the maze of the Land of the Dead's Caverns. None of this is scary!"

"Oh... so you're not curious about the Río de Almas?" she asks, and there's a curious but still bored gaze focused on her.

"You mean like that song?" there's a pause, as she has to think for a moment and understand  _which_  song the stranger is speaking of. She feels her smile twist, and the stranger lets out a shiver, eyes widening as she nods her head. They look around, hands curling on the railing as there's another ripple in the water, before turning to her once more. "Isn't that in another Section of the Land of the Dead?"

"Sí!" she purrs, feeling the lure there. "I could arrange a trip for you if you'd like." There's the hook, the stranger hesitates, for only a moment, before reaching out, her own arm outstretching. The line, and the curl of her hands over those thin young bones and a stiff handshake. "Just drop by old Abuela del Lago's place after the cruise!"

"Of course Señora! I'll be there!"

And the sinker drops as the water erupts people shrieking and crying. Shocked gasps at the appearance of such a large alebrije, dull dark tones and pulsing lights, shades over a long body and external gills and long flowing body, sliding through the water easily, cleanly.

"Ahh, of course," she lets herself lean against the railing. "Del Lago..." she breathes, and spins a tale, warning of attacks, telling tales of disappearances and the warnings to not swim these waters alone.

It continues.

* * *

Her job is not made easy by some. People who wander down from the Gardens and poke around at the very edge of her property. Where the willows sag and the water laps up into sucking mud. Curious people who whisper and titter, wondering at how this could possibly be her home. Jorge is the one who greets them first.

Smiling and cheerful, inviting them in where they stare at the décor. Ominous and lurking, with dark tapestries decorating the walls. Broken dolls and skulls, and her loyal hermit-crab alebrije making his way on his slow walk across the room.

A pentagram tablecloth and small little round cakes.

Something sweet.

Sweet as death. People are always wary stepping into the house. She can see it in the tremble of their bones. As they ask if they're in the right place she smiles.

"How can we help you?" she asks, voice croaking as she shifts. Pushing herself up with her staff and offering only the sweetest of poison smiles. "Have you come to book a cruise or merely lost your way and require a nights rest?"

"Ahh oh... we were just passing through!" one of them says, while another looks at her hermit-crab, staring with an odd expression at it. "We were just passing through... would you be able to help us find our way?" there's a strained grin on their face, and she only continues to smile.

Somewhere further in the house she can hear Jorge babbling away, speaking easily on the phone to one of his friends. Discussing plans, and using those codes.

"Ahh... Of course we can help you!" she folds her hands together and leans subtly forwards. Scanning the group in front of her. Paying attention to their clothing, relatively casual, no obvious uniforms or suits. None of them are particularly recognizable, she hasn't seen them before. "In the meantime why don't you come in and have a proper break. I'll go make some cookies and tea!" she smiles, looking up at them.

"Ahh that's-"

"Tea sounds nice! Thankyou!" one of the other's cuts their leader off, and eagerly steps forwards. "I must ask though, who supplies your false skulls? They really are incredibly well made"

"Ahh Ruy... I really don't think..."

"Come on Yeyo! What harm could it do?" there's a round of agreements from the rest of the group with them, and even as the rest of them walk through the door that one person hangs back. Eyes darting around at the décor, there's a pause.

"Are you going to join us Niño?" she asks, something glinting in her eyes and he shivers. Backing away and shaking his head. Feet slipping in the mud, as a pure chill shakes his bones. She steps forwards, and just watches as he turns and flees.

It doesn't matter.

"Oi! Yeyo!" one of the group steps up, calling out to his retreating back, before laughing and shaking their head. "That Tonto's run off again!" they call cheerfully wandering back in. She remains there for just a handful of moments, face drawn in.

Thinking.

Slowly, she closes the door. They have guests.

* * *

Her job is really not made easy by one Héctor Rivera.

He's really the bane of most of her coworkers existences as well. Constantly finding a new way to exploit some hole or flaw in the system and escape. But the main reason he makes her job hard is that his schemes lead him to such ridiculous extremes. It's baffling when she walks out to do the routine check of the boat she uses for her cruises and...

It's not there.

She blinks, looks one way, back the other and it's still not there. Down by her feet her small alebrije makes a quiet clicking sound and she pulls her mouth into a tight line. Tapping her staff in the mud, poking it deep and the boat fails to manifest. So after another few beats.

"Jorge!"

"Sí! Mi Amor?"

"Where's our ship?" she turns to him lips pursed and he just continues to blithely smile at her as he answers. Easily and cheerfully.

"Oh! There was this young man who came down, one of the Shantytown folk you know. Had an Officer from the Department with him, they said that they were to do some routine checks, you know the usual ones!"

She frowns, crossing her arms slightly, pressing her staff into the mud.

"Such a bonito niño!" he adds, and she pulls up short. There's one person who she can think of who's routinely referred to as such by Jorge.

"Héctor?" she leans herself forwards, looking out across the water again. But now also listening.

"Sí! Héctor!" Jorge chirps. "Such a bonito niño! So polite as well! Said he's bring the boat right back!" he sounds so happy, so cheerful about it all and she gives him a look, considering.

"Jorge... they'll be hungry when they get back, would you help me to prepare a meal for their efforts to make sure everything is up to standard?" her words are dressed up with honey, almost sickeningly sweet. And Jorge nods his head, skull bobbing almost too eagerly before he's off to the house. And she can only look out into the water for a moment.

Her fingers come up, and she puts two in her mouth before letting out a shrill whistle.

The water ripples and a monster raises from the depths. She smiles and gestures wildly with her arms, before dropping down. The creature lets out a rumbling rolling sound leaning close to her and she raises a hand up, gently stroking it.

So gentle, even as her other companion clicks off to the side quietly. Making a fussed sound.

"Polvoriento! Find them!" she drops her tone down. It flattens and she narrows her eyes. "Find them and bring them back here!" that said, the creature rumbles and slides easily back into the water. And now she waits.

It doesn't take long.

"You two must be hungry," her voice is sweet and soft, easily rolling out from her mouth and catching the attention of both men. One the one in the Department uniform looks chilled to his very soul, the other shivers and stares at her with such wide eyes. "Surely you would have the time for some tea and cake while we discuss how the check went, sí?"

"Ahh well." and the officer bolts, not sticking around.

But the yellowed skeleton in front of her doesn't and as he scrambles for an excuse, her eyes drift to the water bubbling just behind him. He's barely half way through when she snaps her fingers. Has only the barest chance to gasp, before Polvoriento is on him.

"Buena Niña Viejo!" she says, before crossing her arms and staring at her boat. Now it probably does need a check. She groans, not able to do much. "Keep him quiet, I'll go retrieve our Halloween Delivery."

* * *

"Will that be all?"

"Sí, unfortunately we couldn't get that many more... people have been spreading stories again, La Bruja del Lago."

"No, no, this is fine, you've done well. Exceeded expectations really."

"Ay, you flatter me..."

"You even caught Esqueleto Imposible"

"Sí, I did..."

"Impressive considering his reputation... ay, there they go again, another gato callejero"

"Ay, this one's harmless."

"So far, but if they get any closer..."

"Sí, is that everything?"

"Seems so. Have a nice night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is _almost_ cheating, considering I did help develop her, but... Ophelia was really pushed along into existence with Dara's help and tossing around ideas until suddenly she spawned. So, almost cheating, but I don't count her as only mine so she's safe for this... 
> 
> ~~Okay I'm done, had fun with this~~


	5. Shantytown Family – Carlos Mata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Take what you need"

He first wanders down in a moment that's more curiosity than anything else. There are people dying almost on the daily, and he's feeling that his family is among them. He's been called back to the department to come and pick up someone else. To see his family and get the same story. Everyone's getting sick, it's an epidemic.

So he wanders down.

To where the bright lights and well-remembered folk don't dare to tread. It's an interesting contrast, as he goes down the streets the chatter fades away. The hustle of the streets and calls of people trails off and it gets quieter. A more sombre air as the colours fade from around him. Easing into duller colours. Not exactly dangerous feeling, but sombre, with a lot of blues and greys. Washed out colours.

And yet there's still a warmth to them. Something that makes them feel welcoming.

Just a little bit sadder, and it also sends a jolt of deep nostalgia through him and he finds himself running a hand over the wall as he takes the steps down. Shoes clicking on the steps, until there're no more steps for him to take.

Not stone anyway.

Rickety wooden steps, almost more of a ladder than an actual staircase. He pauses at the edge, looking down and frowning for a moment. He could turn back, it's not like he has to. He turns himself around and lowers himself down. It's odd because he almost feels like he should be swaying until he's stepping off at the bottom and peering back up with a whistle of appreciation.

It's not a bad way down, but getting back up.

Not quite the right angle for that. Almost sheer, he shakes his head, gives a cheerful wave to no one and walks towards the area that's often forgotten by the rest of the Land of the Dead. Or rather, he stops and tilts his head back to stare at the mural painted on the archway to the Shanty, it's ignored.

Pushed to the back of people's heads until inevitably you have to wander down.

And how many people down here wander back up? Not many that he can immediately think of. Sure there are the exceptions to the rule but for the most part. People go down, and they don't go back up. So he hesitates for a moment, considering the whole thing.

It's an odd moment.

Caught between-

"Hola Señor!" there's a chipper cheerful voice ringing out in greeting a small child. A tiny little skeleton that blinks up at him with two different coloured eyes. There's something, off about them, and he finds his brow furrowing in for a moment, trying to figure out what it is. "Soy Mana Dimentra, Quién eres tú?"

"Ay! Soy Carlos Mata!" the small child looks up at him for a moment before nodding their head.

"Sí, Carlos..." there's a pause and the small child looks back into the archway, frowning for a moment, before turning fully and soon disappearing from his sight. It's that more than anything else that drives him to finally step through the arch and.

Music.

Laughter and greetings, cheerful voices and boisterous chatter. Voices that ring out, and when someone spots him, there's a moment of pity, a moment of apology in their expression before they're calling him over and asking him to join them in a game of cards or something.

It's all good.

* * *

Years pass, people come and go.

People get forgotten. New faces, old friends. His family trickle down. Slowly forgotten one by one, and he cobbles things together. Creating instruments from scraps. Piecemeal objects that are made with love more than anything else. Made with care.

"Gracias Carlos!" says one of the older Tia's smiling at him with bright eyes that are in stark contrast to the way her bones shudder and creak. He can only smile at her.

In the distance he can hear guitar strings, a visitor.

It's a tune he can't help but smile hearing. Distantly familiar and melancholy. An echo of something, and then the music jars. A break in the tune. A break in the melody. There's a sinking feeling and the Tia beside him shudders a rattle in her bones, as she turns over the little gift he'd made her.

A small music box.

She turns the key, winding the coil.

"He was forgotten..." Carlos breathes, realization as the music slowly starts back up, more hesitant.

"Sí, Pobrecito..." she sights. "Pobrecito niño..."

"Ay... our guest as well..." he jolts, remembering one other detail. He curls a hand and beside him the Tia shakes her head, sighing almost. "Tia Yolanda?" she only lets out a soft and sad sound, eyes distantly focusing on the figure and something tight curls up under his ribcage as his gaze follows.

The children from the Orphanage flock around the stranger. Grouping around him, but now his music is shaky, trembling with that emotion. And as the sisters come over, leading the children away he watches the man gather a shaky breath and walk away shambling. Shuddering.

He's new, but not really.

A familiar but not face.

"He's one of Èric's..." Tia Yolanda shakes her head, disapproving and Carlos can feel his expression pull tight. Screwing up on his face with a certain distaste. "Pobrecito niño" he finds himself nodding, poor boy indeed. Having to deal with Èric was bad enough just when it was running into him in the street, having to actually talk with him though.

He can't imagine anything worse.

He can't imagine how it would be forced to deal with that man.

"Ugh..."

"Look at that..."

"Alvaro?" he mumbles, vaguely recognizing the other, before shaking his head. It doesn't matter too much. Besides it's not like he has to pay that much attention. Beside him Yolanda laughs and he huffs rolling his eyes in his sockets, before picking up the next few pieces of whatever he's going to create.

Maybe an instrument of his own.

Now what would go well with a guitar?

* * *

"Take what you need..." he frowns as he hears the grumbling grudging permission granted. Seconds later there's a grateful voice, assurance and promises that everyone's getting far, far too used to hearing. He twines the cord onto the staff, and considers it.

A wire cord.

An odd creation but it plays.

"You're playing sharp Carlos!" he sighs, before cheerfully laughing and shaking his head. Does it matter, he's playing a little sharp, it's playing. It's working it's...

Almost Dia de Muertos, and they can all feel the creeping weariness. They can all feel the rise in tension and the spike of anticipation. And as he watches, there's a curl of something, they can't pretend to not see the yellow, the creeping way that he walks, and the way he shuffles.

This year might be the last.

And he watches as the younger man trots out, cheerfully waving and wishing them goodbye.

And he can only hope... that it won't be one of the last times they'll see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha... I'm not happy with this... ugh. It's done, but I'm not happy because I was all over the place trying to write it... ugh. But hey, here you go.
> 
> Carlos, might be a familiar face for you all, belonging to the wonderful Bookwormgal and appearing in her story [A Gentle Refrain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578222).


	6. Helena López

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I heard enough, this ends now."

Her first day is a quiet one. She's finished her training, a good few years of it. And while she's not entirely clear of her job, it's pretty simple on paper. She welcomes those who're just arriving. Greeting people as they come in on the trains, and walk them through the last few bits of paperwork for the Department to file away, overseeing family reunions and checking up on those who might need a Grief Counsellor.

Her first day is a quiet one.

Quiet until closer to the end. Some of the folks arrive from the terminal. Babbling together and nodding on their way past. They're speaking and speculating, and she finds her brow pulling in, wondering.

Curious she asks someone, a more senior worker.

The worker who she asks sighs, raises one hand to her forehead and shakes her head.

"They're speculating on Héctor again." she says, turning to her.

"Héctor?"

"Sí, Héctor. Ay dios... you don't know yet!" the older guard turns to her, something in those eyes. "For the past sixty or so Dia de Muertos celebrations he's shown up. Pobrecito niño. He's never had a foto, never had a representation. Nothing. But every year without fail he'll show up and try to cross the bridge. Those idiotas are just speculating on what to expect from his this year..." she huffs, shaking her head.

She tilts her own in response.

"Sixty years?" surely that was an exaggeration. But the senior Arrivals Agent only nods her head, and someone else calls across the room, yelling at her to share some of the 'highlights' of the man's attempts. "Who's he even trying to see?" she finds herself asking as the other glares across the room.

There's a pause, a bit of silence and the elder of the two turns to her shaking her head.

"That information is something we don't really know Helena." there's a pause, before the other is all smiles again. "Now come on, let me show you the department mailroom."

* * *

Héctor comes up in conversation again when she's in the break room, and going over some of the new arrivals files and double checking information for someone who's sure that they've been mishandled. There's a couple of teenagers from another Afterlife who've come in and she's been tasked with the locating of their Mexican relatives who they're looking for.

So she's going over the files and muttering quietly to herself about  _which Garcia_  family she should be trying to contact.

"-And Officer Félix just, pulled him out of the trash can!"

"Oh that's nothing, were you there when he tried to  _dig_  his way across?" there's laughter, and she raises her head looking over at the group of her fellow Department Agents in the corner cheerfully sharing stories. "Oi, José, you helped him with that right? How long were you filling it back in?"

"That's not relevant Donato..." José says, a distinct glow to his markings.

"Why did you even try to help him anyway? How long was-"

"It was curiosity okay! He was trying to  _dig_  over the bridge!" José's hands lay flat on the table. "And at least it made more sense than the fiasco that he created in 1942 trying to, what even was that? A parade float of some kind?"

"Whatever it was it didn't work..."

"Perdón, I couldn't help but overhear and..."

"You're curious, that's alright señorita! We're just talking about some of the past events." Donato swings around a bright and cheerful grin on his face while in the background José mumbles something and takes the opportunity to pick up his own paperwork. "We're just sharing Héctor stories."

"Oh..." she says, brow furrowing.

"Sí, Héctor stories!" the only unnamed member at the table says, before pursing their lips. "Oh gosh, that recent attempt. You know where he pretended he was a Department Worker, to check the bridges..."

"He did what?" José raises his head up again, brow pulling in. "Is that what caused the full audit and investigation! We had backlogged arrivals for  _days_!" he moans dramatically lowering his head and a few of the other agents around him laughed, but more sympathetically. "Although it did lead to you know..."

"The reforms, sí."

"Surely you're exaggerating." she finds herself saying, lips pulling together. "One man can't possibly cause that much trouble just by trying to cross a bridge..."

"If he just done the proper paperwork it would be fine!" José grumbles as the other two shake their heads, one of them grinning at her. "I mean, I even showed him the legalese, but  _no_ , he has to steal a parachute and try to  _jump across_."

"Wow, that was an early attempt."

"Maybe, but still better than the tour fiasco... like okay, I get it, you want to see your girl. But breaking your leg isn't going to do that!" José's hands curl, pure frustration twisting his features up as he tries to explain what he's talking about.

"The tours! Oh man I remember those! Why did he stop?" there's silence around the table, everyone falling silent and considering the question. Although there's something on one person's face that catches her attention, making her turn, questions in her mind.

"Señors, I am not sure I understand" she crosses her arms, looking down the three men. "Are you really saying that this 'Héctor' does this kind of stuff,  _every_ year?"

"Sí!" there's a round of nodding around the table, and Donato leans over with a grin.

"We've even made a chart of attempts! Do you want to see?"

"Helena!" someone across the room calls her name before she can decide whether or not it's worth looking at their chart and she has to shake her head and leave. But it does make her curious as the three just go back to their conversation, with some teasing as well.

* * *

"What's that sheet on the wall?"

"Which one Helena?"

"The one with the photo pinned up beside it." she turns her head to the other officer in the room, who frowns. Looking at the sheet on the wall, there's a list of ideas written down on the side, but for the afterlife of her she cannot imagine where or how they would be implemented. Or even why the Department would try.

A catapult, what kind of person would even want to fling themself from one?

"Oh! It's the Héctor betting sheet." the other's face lights up and she turns to her with an arched brow. "About time it got posted, ooh, I'm still waiting to see if he'll try pulling out a zipline at some point..."

A zipline? She can only stare at her coworker flabbergasted as the other walks over and taps her phalanges against the wall reading down the list. Muttering at the ideas that some of the others have suggested before marking herself down on the list. There's a pause and they look back at her, before looking again at the list.

"You going to guess what he'll try?" a quill is held out to her and she can only stare at it. Trying to scramble for an answer because this can't be real.

A  _betting sheet_. It has to be a joke.

And yet she finds herself standing in front of the list, reading down the ideas once more and-

Who knows. She pens down a single word, something wild and crazy just to go along with the madness around her for a moment.

_Alebjie_

* * *

She settles herself in, standing at her booth and accepting the photographs from the Agents and nodding along to instructions. Around her there are people who're scrambling to do their last few checks. Muttering names and listing off numbers, making sure that the books are all in order, to list people as they sign out and cross to visit their families.

It's somewhat chaotic.

But more than that.

"Watch out for Héctor this year!"

"So when do you think we'll see Héctor?"

"Any ideas on Héctor's plan?"

"Officer Félix! You checked the bins for Héctor?"

Héctor

Héctor

_Héctor_

All around her people call out his name, almost joking really. And with some anticipation and she can feel her teeth grit. Her hands curl. There's a bit of money being pooled in the back officer people discussing-

"That's Enough!" she gestures widely, catching some attention. "Héctor, Héctor, Héctor. That's Enough. Enough of it. I heard enough, this ends now." she takes a deep breath. "We've got a busy night ahead of us! So please, enough joking about this  _Héctor_."

Behind her she hears someone mumble something. Someone asking about a warning and she ignores it.

* * *

Hours later, when she's checking people, making sure that they have fotos, and nodding as they're cleared, she notices something out of the corner of her eye. A small trailing path of green marks on the ground. She blinks, waves on her last customer and she looks around.

Everyone else is busy and for that moment her terminal is clear.

So she steps away, just long enough. Her feet take her down the trail, following the green prints. At the end there's a man, at least she  _thinks_  that it's a man. He's absolutely covered in paint, head to toe, and wearing some hodgepodge outfit that she can't possibly hope to understand, with a piece that's trying to be a tail and floppy bits on a band around his skull.

He's grumbling to himself, leaving even more paint on the ground as he shuffles. Peering around, not even noticing her.

"Perdón señor." he absolutely shrieks, whipping around with wide eyes and she has to hold back a giggle at the odd mask he's wearing. "I'm sorry, but you aren't supposed to be back here." there's a moment where he's clearly going to try and object, before he seems to remember he's covered in paint and a ridiculous costume and-

She blinks, her jaw dropping as she struggles to comprehend.

"Did you just-" he repeats the sound, an odd bark that's  _almost_  real enough but. "Señor, this is not a joke!" she says, and he gives her the widest, most ridiculous  _please don't be mad at me_  grin she's ever seen. And that's saying something since she's seen a lot.

She steps forwards, willing to try and lead him physically if-

He bolts. Between one blink and the next and she can only call, shouting out an alert. The nearest officers come down her way and she points, explaining.

"There he is!"

"Who… you know him?"

"Sí, that's Héctor."

And that's how she finds out that Héctor is definitely not a joke. And returning to her terminal, she frowns when she finds herself staining a few pages with green.

She sighs, spying out of the corner of her eye as he's caught. Protesting and leaving even more green everywhere. It's going to be a  _long_  night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena might be familiar to you folks as well. As belonging to the amazing im_fairly_witty, as shown in their story [The Rivera Wrangler](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694169)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~or maybe you also recognize Helena from A Gentle Refrain where she also appears~~


	7. Dario Irati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No worries, we still have time."

He can feel how little time there really is.

He can feel it, without even looking down at himself how much his bones have yellowed and faded. Chipped, cracked and warped so quickly over the few short years that he's been here. His own stupid fault, his own stupid choice. A record deal gone wrong and his 'manager' running off with all his money and music. He growls, rubbing at one socket and glaring at the world around him.

He shouldn't be mad, not really, it's no wonder he's not on the family ofrenda. Imagine wanting to be related to a hit and run drunk who crashed, who would want that? And even before then-

His ribcage aches, a coiling choking feeling pulsing through it. A jolting pain, everything in him jarring and he takes a sharp breath. Images flash through his eyes, a brief moment where everything is white and pain, hot and sharp, the acrid taste of copper and fuel on his tongue, that disorientating feeling of hanging in place, and the bitter smell of smoke filling up his cranium.

He chokes, swallowing the feeling and storming his way through the Shantytown. He ignores those who call to him, he can't. There's a pause, a glance to where he knows there are records.

Recordings and books, and-

He can't.

There's another place. A small shack, a single memorial, all maintained by the one person. Drawings and names, carvings of tales and dates. People who've gone and who've been immortalized in-

He can't.

He's never let them get close. Not when he's a  _murderer_ , and while the guy doesn't know it. There's just this feeling he gets from the other, and it's jarring. With that wide smile and casual ease with everyone. And yet there's this feeling that he gets from standing near him, as if he's standing beside a Murder Victim. It's a horrible feeling, so he winces and steers himself away from that shack.

There's another place, a memorial of photos up on the wall.

But, it's not for adults.

It's a photo wall of children. Small children, and older children. He finds himself walking down, ignoring the twist of a heavy weight on his back, the echo of a presence and the familiar feeling of guilt like a chain around his neck. A cord that tightens around his cervical vertebrae and feels so real he's almost sure that it's physically there.

He stares at the wall, but doesn't really see it.

He sees the moment again.

A crossing a light, a held sign that was ignored. The red splatter, a falling body, the fence and the pole, swerving off to the side because oh for the sake of the Christ that's a child-

He closes his eyes, one hand curling over a small bracelet in his pocket. A small children's bracelet. He can remember feeling it pressed into his hands, a small voice speaking, and wet, sticky, red dripping down from his head and crossing his vision.

"Don' worry Señor. Mama says we have time..."

There was such a tightness in his chest, the sound of voices all around him. A pulsing pounding sick feeling in his head, the strain of his seatbelt keeping him still. Strapped tight and yet dangling upside down in his own crashed vehicle. A small face staring at him and-

He opens his eyes, scanning the faces, some of them he can name others-

There's the sound of footsteps. A chilling hush and he turns, just barely able to see the sombre progression. Children holding the hands of Department Agents, that blue uniform all too recognizable. He looks through the crowd, that familiar ache deepening in his chest, he's constantly worried, constantly fearing that-

"Gracias... Señorita!" a familiar voice, chipper, cheerful and he stiffens. A flash of a sign, a scream so short and cut off. A sickness seeps into his bones and he can barely force himself to look their way. To watch as she accepts the list of names. And she nods her head. Checking them off and getting small introductions from each of them.

It's chilling to understand that these children are doomed to be lost and forgotten.

"I dunno my name..." one of the children says, looking towards him curiously.

"No worries, we still have time. What would you like to be called chamaca?" she kneels down and he watches as the small child, barely bigger than a toddler shifts and considers.

"Hooky!" they say, splaying their hands. "Because I'm supposed to be at school..."

"Alright Hooky... and not here." her voice is soft and he feels that chain around his neck, a hand raising up. Because this is wrong, they shouldn't be here. This is- "You don't have to worry about that anymore... we'll supply all the school supplies you need here."

"But, but, I'm supposed to be..." the kid trails off, something unsure on their face. "I was-"

"It will be alright, hush... it will all be alright..."

He steps forwards, and can feel the snap up. Feel the glare and that chain coils, rattling in his ribcage. But slowly she backs off, standing up and the small child turns and looks at him, curious. Tilting their head and again it's like that moment. Dangling, with wide eyes watching.

A small bracelet pushed into his grasp and hands instinctively curling.

He finds himself swallowing, that cord getting tighter and another jolt of that sharp pain the echo of a moment. Wide eyes, a golden-amber flare and he winces. Shuddering as all his bones rattle together and he collapses and-

There's a distant figure coming up. Familiar as he is a stranger.

"Por favor." he shudders, the words heavy in his mouth as he pulls out the bracelet, paper following. "You have their eyes, when little Michi arrives... por favor..."

"Dario?"

"I'm... fading... you might have time but-" he gasps that pain shooting through him again. The agony of the break, the shuddering, stuttering in his ribs and chest, the full body jostling.

"Dario!" he shudders hearing his name.

"No worries sí? You have time..." he pushes the bracelet forwards and he can hear the slip of the approaching person. Feel their horror. The small child reaches out, accepts the bracelet, the papers. He lets out a relieved sigh. "Gracias, por favor. Give it to Michi..."

Another glow, and this one doesn't pass.

Folding in, a firey pain, that jostling jolting feeling, the break. And slowly a numbness that's like falling asleep, a blanket of acceptance.

_"Señor... please wake up, the police are here."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of Liani's OCs... also sorry for that ending... but hey, had to give you something evil I guess. I was in a mood today.


	8. Armando Abascal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you do."

Ever since that night, he'd been keeping his skull down. As had the rest of those who had once worked for and with Ernesto De la Cruz. The De la Cruz foundation had been pretty much destroyed, the company crumbling, falling into a collapsed mess in the wake of the revelations of Dia de Muertos.

It was everyone for themselves. People pointing fingers and accusing, scrambling to cover themselves. To protect themselves from the anger of the crowd. He didn't know how everyone else was doing, and his other contracts had fallen through, simply by association. Everyone was feeling the effects. Everyone was feeling the change.

Practically he'd lost his job.

No one wanted to be managed by someone who's biggest star turned out to be a murderer secretly under all their noses.

It burns, leaving a bitter sharp taste in his mouth. He raises his head up, eyes darting to the lap of luxury that has since been donated, gifted to those less fortunate souls. The rising tower still feels almost too visible now, a looming presence even among the towering buildings around them in the Land of the Dead, but now. He grumbles, pulling his jacket tighter and storming down the streets. Ignoring the prickling feeling up his spine.

It doesn't matter anymore.

They all made their choices and he didn't know. He thought he knew. That taste boils in his mouth, curling and sliding down the back of his throat and twisting in his non-existent stomach. He thought that he knew.

There are footsteps.

He stops. A shiver in his bones as he gives a quick look around. Warily trying to remember where he was going. He takes a deep breath, holding it in his ribcage and curling his arms around himself defensively. Rubbing his humerus bones even through his jacket.

There's no one obviously following him.

But when he takes another step. Footsteps follow. He unconsciously speeds up, a fluttering in his ribs as he takes winding streets. Gradually going from bright lights and loud music to more darker alleys. He takes another back turn, past crumbling walls and cordoned off areas for repairs. He slips around a corner pressing his back to the wall and taking a deep breath.

He's made a mistake.

"We know you're here!" a voice calls, rolling and familiar. With a shade of glee that makes him shiver. "Come on out Armando! We know what you done! What you  _hid_." he grits his teeth, shivering against the wall, hands pressing hard against stone, phalanges slightly curling, digging into the material and just barely chipping it away.

He done nothing.

Just-

For a moment he can remember sitting across from him. That room so long ago, dark because the curtains were drawn tight, shadows over both of them, a few sheets of paper between them, talk of songs and the smoky tart bitterness of coffee on his lips. A quill held between them and smiles sharp enough to cut.

It all seemed so simple back then.

Nothing in the man's eyes had even hinted.

He takes a shuddering breath, resting his skull back against the wall and closing his eyes silently finding himself praying that his pursuers don't find their way to him. He should have gone in the other direction, down the louder, brighter path where he could hear the alluring song of music and laughter, and even if he'd be side-eyed he wasn't likely to be jumped.

But the stares and whispers are worse than glares and accusations and this is one of the quicker routes back to his apartment.

"We know you're here!" the call is repeated and there's the distinct patter of light steps on the cobbled ground, the slight tinkle of disturbed stone. "We just want to talk with you!" there's a jeer in the voice, and murmurs of the others and his eyes dart.

There's a small gap to the side, and he's never been small but. He shuffles, as quietly as he can. Keeping his back to the wall, before he's reaching the gap and.

It pushes on him, pressing tightly as he squirms. Limbs catching on jutting stone and awkward angles and the sound he makes popping out the other side is anything but dignified. There's a shout, voices calling and he barely gives a glance back, racing around the next corner, and back towards-

He comes to a stop slamming into someone and there's a huff, a miserable groan as he falls back hitting the ground. Dazed he stares up at the empty skyline before a face is clouding out his vision. A cyanide smile, slicked back blond hair and amber eyes. His ribcage tightens, breath catching as he recognizes the person looming over him.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Armando, how've you been doing old friend?" That voice. He pushes himself up, knowing that he has to-

There are others stepping out of the shadows. And he jolts, stilling with eyes darting around. Ribcage heaving as he turns trying to see if there were any angle, any direction that he could. An arm is slung over his shoulders and he freezes. Green eyes slowly sliding to the side to stare into the broadly grinning expression of his old acquaintance.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend? I thought that we were amigos, ey Mando?"

"I would hardly call that friendship, Archito..."

"Aww, you wound me Mando. You really do!" the other releases him, nodding his head and he doesn't get the chance to even bolt. One of the larger men around them stepping forwards and catching him. Hoisting him off the ground before the thought has even fully entered his mind. His 'amigo' turns away from him, not looking at him, not really. Outstretched arms and words he doesn't want to listen to. "So we heard all about that messy business. Guess your star Nesto turned out to be murderer ey?" a glance back with a sharp grin, glinting light in those eyes. "Ahh well, it happens! Doesn't it?"

"What do you really want Archer?" he snaps, and the other pauses, hands curling as he turns. A flat expression, eyes that hold secrets, caged. His ribcage shudders as the blond steps forwards, a hand stretching out to cup his cheek.

"To talk Mando!" the man shakes his head.

"I know you do. But why all this?" he motions with his head all around. "What do you really want?"

"We have a proposition for you Mando!" Archer spins on his heel, stalking forwards, and the hold on him gets tighter. He's lifted higher and growls, something frantic entering his eyes. "Nasty business all this right?" an arm presses on his cervical vertebrae as Archer turns back around choking off anything he might have said. "Sure was a shock, finding out the Nesto was a murderer hiding behind a smile right? Oh, but you already have experience with such don't you Mando?"

He stares, eyes wide and desperate at the other. The blond's expression pulls up, sharpening just that little bit more, a glint in those eyes. A scan over him, and he wants to scream. To escape.

"So... since you have experience!" a look to the side, a shift, and he can hear a grinding. Stone on stone. A rumbling that he can feel, a tremble in his bones and a shuddering echo. "Hey come on Mando, don't look so scared!"

He's walked down a passage. Dark and musky, small flickers of flame and candles. Winding tunnels that slope downwards until he's unceremoniously dropped into a metal chair in a room, he's about to snap at them.

Demanding how this works as a proposition.

There's a shink sound, a clicking and he can't move his wrists. His ankles are caught as well and he yanks back. Ready to disconnect-

"Hola!"

The voice from somewhere ahead of him in the darkness sends a tremor through his whole body. His head snaps up and he looks around, searching for that rolling rough voice. He finds himself swallowing, eyes peering frantically into the darkness.

"Armando Abascal, I presume?" there's a shift, a tense weight in the air. His ribcage tightens and he finds he doesn't want to answer.

"Sí! That's Mando!" someone else answers for him. "You going to explain it all to him then doctor? Or should I?"

"No, that's fine Archer. You've done great to bring him here..." someone steps forwards out of the shadows a clear dismissal in his voice. And there's a weight, a pressure that makes him pull back, shrinking into the seat as he feels more than sees the blond leave the room. Narrow, calculating eyes settle on him, and a broad grin spreads over the other's face. "Hola, I do believe, it would be in your best interests, to listen to our proposal! Before you make a choice that could be... regrettable."

A shiver races through his body, stealing his last breath as he stares, eyes fixed on the man he's sure holds the fate of his afterlife.

He has no choice but to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ernesto's manager from the amazing [The Bedside Ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545218) by our wonderful PengyChan


	9. Ricardo Mendéz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You shouldn't have come here."

Twin violet tinged eyes stare, taking in the ship in front of him. He's almost disappointed by how relatively normal it looks, taking on the appearance of a ferry really. Rather simple, with a stable railing and a plain almost boring paintjob. It's almost disappointing. He was expecting something slightly more dilapidated to go with the whole atmosphere.

As it is, the house is more fitting, and he cranes his head around, looking back in that direction, La Abuela del Lago's house. A small almost cosy seeming thing. Aside the fact that it's hidden among willows, and the sucking mud that feels like it's greedily gulping and sucking at his feet. And even the house itself, as cosy as it seems, there's something not quite right about it.

It's a comfortable front, surrounded by looming and leering almost swamp like surroundings.

And he's just a face in a crowd of people. His camera is the only thing that sets him aside, really.

As it is there's a prickling down his spine as la Abuela del Lago finally emerges. She shambles through the crowd, half bent as she walks, and moving with a kind of practiced ease through the mud and to her boat. She rest there for a moment, on the wooden ramp leading into the ship before pushing herself into an upright position. His fingers itch to pull his camera around and record as sharp eyes scan the crowd. Something in them reminding him of a fox watching the henhouse from a distance.

Greedy.

He slips through the crowd, pushing past people and bodies until he's emerging somewhere near the front. Mud is sure to stain his boots and pants, but he can't care as he looks up and Abuela del Lago's partner, her  _husband_  emerges. He's all smiles, a cheerful pair of eyes and a straw hat.

"Hola Señors! Señoritas!" he calls, broadly gesturing beside his wife, who continues to merely observe them. "Who's ready to get scared?" his voice is loud, joyous and at odds with the sudden drop of the last word. Hands coming up half-curled and a grin that spreads across a face trying to be malicious.

It doesn't work that way, but he shifts with the rest of the crowd, a twist in him as the man watches. And more, a prickle as she steps forwards, and bangs her staff down.

"All aboard!" the man calls and he lets the crowd surge around him. It's odd, the board of wood creaks and groans beneath his weight and there's a buzz in his skull as he listens to a shuddering rattle and the lapping of water against the sides. A ripple catches his eye, and he turns his head, leaning over the railing to watch.

There are eyes on him.

Or rather, there are eyes on his camera, sharp and pointed, narrowed.

He has the urge to speak, to explain but the words catch in his ribs as the boat begins to move. The lapping turning into a swish and his feet rocking on the deck. His hands curl around the nearest bar, the metal cold and grounding against his bone and his eyes stare wide into the murky waters, watching as silt and mud is churned up leaving a mess of green and brown, a cutting trail behind them.

It coils through him, and distantly he can hear la Abuela del Lago begin to speak.

Distantly he can hear the murmur of the crowd, people moving and steps against creaking wood. But he's eyes are focused on the churning water, the smallest of ripples, barely disturbed by a fallen leaf.

Barely disturbed by-

A hand, screaming, he can't swim.  _He can't swim._

He recoils away from the railing, yanking himself back and around taking a heaving shuddery breath and hugging himself just ever so slightly.

"-Be sure not to fall in, the weeds will choke and bind, and horrors from beyond the veil have been known to swim-"

He shudders, bringing his camera around and absently running his hands along its parts. Staring out into the crowd, forwards towards where la Abuela del Lago stands at the helm and speaks. Her croaky voice low and ominous. The words hang in the air but he can barely register them as anything more than a static sound.

Around them cobwebs string from plant to plant, branches loom overhead and there're skittering creatures, clicking insects. A distant buzz and a howl of something yet unseen. His head turns, eyes catching a dark shape looming in the distance. A man, a stranger, a grin. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut and trying to forget for a moment the cut of ropes and screams.

He shivers.

"-And the spiders can grow to be building sized, looming over you and searching for those foolish enough to get caught up in their web. So don't come wandering down here on your own, things down here in the underbelly don't work like they do up in the brightly lit streets you're all familiar with." The voice rumbles over him and he opens his eyes.

Staring at their surroundings tilting his head back.

"Over there you'll see the Cueva de las Cosas Perdidas!" he finds himself looking more absently than anything else. "In just a moment we will enter the catacombs, and beware. Don't even blink! You won't want to miss a single moment of what we're about to see!" her voice goes low and he frowns. About to ask.

Instinct demands he swing his camera around, and he flips the switch as the ship  _plunges_. There's a jolting rock, lurching them all forwards, and someone shrieks. He's only half sure that it's not him as everything goes dark. There's a period of muttering, people shuffling, and he moves himself forwards. Unsure.

There're gasps, awed whispers as light returns.

Orange flames that dance around them and cast long shadows. He stands in awe, staring around, before shaking his head. There's an odd purple tint in the water, a glow. He turns himself around, his camera making a small whirring sound as he-

"Is that thing on?"

He jolts, a chill racing down his spine at the innocuous question. Almost sheepishly he lowers his camera back down, nervously looking at the stranger who's asked. They eye his camera and eye him and he shifts himself a nervous laugh.

"Of course not! I know better than to-"

"You're lying!" the cutting remark jolts through him, a chill a fear.

"N-no. I... Yes... the camera is on!" he deflates, his body sagging as he looks over at the other. "Por favor. I..."

"You should tell la Bruja del Lago then, before she notices and you get thrown overboard!"

"She wouldn't!" he straightens, ignoring the glimmering lights overhead and the screeches of bone bats as they're disturbed. "Just for my camera!"

"I heard she does far worse! Invites you back to her shack and takes your skull for her collection!" someone else jeers.

"Or throws you to the spiders!"

"She'll feed you to Del Lago for breaking the rules!"

He pulls himself back. Pulling his camera up, and backing himself out of the crowd of people who've noticed his camera running and pounced with some of the more horror stories. The nightmares of tales.

He shakes his head.

"She wouldn't. No! La Abuela del Lago, wouldn't!" but he's heard those whispers, those tales, those-

"Hola!" the jeers all cut off, that voice cheerful and bright and he snaps his head around to stare. A familiar figure, the husband. "Enjoying the show?" he asks, leaning in and everyone nods their heads. A resounding round of praise, expressing their enjoyment. And he backs away, escaping to the side. Running around the main cabin and more to the back.

He lowers himself down there, and looks around. Staring.

There's a waterfall to one side, and in the water.

"Are those... bones?" he wonders, peering deep into the clear water. There's a chill  _she'll toss you overboard_. He shudders, leaning himself back and shaking his head. Instead choosing to focus on something else. A moving shape, something that's been following the boat, a looming huge thing that slips through the water like a shadow. And quickly disappears beneath the boat.

He leans himself over, pulling his camera around and twisting-

"You shouldn't be back here!" he yelps, almost losing grasp on his camera, and after snatching it back almost toppling over the railing. "Pequeño Gato Callejero!" he snaps himself around, an objection in his mouth, before he's meeting her eyes and-

A bucket of ice is poured down over him, his own reflection looks small, like a mouse in the eyes of a cat.

He takes a shuddery breath, and curls himself in, eyes lowering away from her.

"I'm enjoying the cruise Señora!" he nods his head, "It's all so amazing. I was not aware that there was such- Oh wow!" his eyes dart to the side, movement in a far cavern catching his attention. Some kind of bird alebrije and a figure looming, he pulls his camera up, only to have it slammed right back down. Pushed away, he lets out a small growl. He turns around, and chokes.

"I would advise you, Gato... best put the camera away"

"I just..."

"The Executioner doesn't appreciate her privacy being invaded any more than necessary." the lady says and he shudders. A tremble in his bones. An eerie moan, sounding almost pained echoes around them. There's a prickly twisting feeling in the back of his head, a creeping sensation over his bones and he lets his camera fall lower.

Pressing it down.

He swallows. "I understand, Abuela del Lago. I just, I'm curious." he flips the switch, cutting off the camera and swings it back over his back. Letting the weight comfort him. Narrowed eyes meet his own, and there's a rattling in his chest, a tight feeling of recognition as his ribs strain. She smiles. Something that could be sweet but only feels dangerous. The boat turns, and they out in the open again.

Turning back towards.

"You shouldn't have come here. Pobrecito Gato Callejero. This cruise wasn't for you!" he turns, as she points, a cobweb spanning over their head. Brightly coloured alebrijes caught on threads and he can see small glimmers, glints of white. Faded bones. "Sometimes the underbelly just isn't for all of us! You want a story Gato?"

"Uh, sí! I would appreciate-"

"Then keep your nose clean!" she says, voice a growl, a low rumble that has him swallowing the rest of his words. "My cruise is not the story for you! La Bruja del Lago... What were you hoping to find?" he warily pushes himself back once more, eyeing her with a tremble in his bones.

_She'll take your skull for her collection_

He grins. "You know, something interesting! It's been a slow news week! So maybe I kind of hoped to... I dunno! Document the Creepy Cruises. Learn some of the nightmare tales!" he nods his head, and she gives him a flat look.

Those eyes hold him trapped, before she nods.

A rusty laugh, like nails being shaken and he shudders.

"Talk to Tio Jorge then..." she finally says and he blinks. "Pequeño Gato Callejero. He'll give you the stories that we let all hear!" there's a pause as the boat turns around another bend. Going past a mural and again, he itches to pull his camera around, to record the oddity. The dramatics of the art on the wall.

Broken bones and nightmares, all dressed up and.

"Is that-"

"Not all the Children you see are children..." she says voice low, like a shadow it dawns on him.

"Gods?" he breathes, and she lets out a hum from beside him. A low dark laugh that echoes. The pictures on the mural seem to shift, to change, moving and playing out a battle from long ago. His eyes trace them with wonder, taking it in. "No... not gods. But-"

"Abominations" she speaks. "Horrors that we can't name. Creatures that see us, see the world, but don't connect with it!" voice a drone and he looks side-ways at her, from the front he can hear her husband speak.  _Tio Jorge_. She grins, teeth sharp in her mouth and he feels a shiver as the mural fades. "See them still watching, waiting beyond the veil line. You ever wondered Gato? Wondered what happens if you fall off the bridge in the wrong place, miss the ocean and you fall into their realm..."

"Is it the same... if you fall out of the trains?" his voice is a squawk, and he's clicked on the recorder. She grins again, sharp vicious and nods her head. "So, there is something there?"

"No." the tone is flat as they go through a chilly barrier of some kind and he shudders. Whole body prickling. "No, we call it the  _Amitlah_ " he freezes.

"Amitlah?"

"Sí" her voice falls so low, and he sucks in a breath. "Todavía curioso, gato callejero?"

"No!" He says feeling it as the boat pulls in. The squelching of mud, and the lowering of the ramp.

"You shouldn't have come here." she repeats as he backs away. His hands are in front of him, and there's something chilly against his spine, curling beneath his ribs. "Pequeño Gato Callejero. There's no story to interest you here. Keep your phantom nose clean, stay out of trouble."

He turns and bolts.

" _It would be a shame... Nadie podría darse cuenta de que falta un callejero"_

He doesn't stop until he's far from the swamp, through the Shanties, and back into the light. Crumbling streets melting into bright lights and music. The atmosphere light and happy, that prickling feeling far behind. His steps slow, and he stops, panting, ribcage heaving in a plaza by a fountain. There are people looking his way and he can only shake his head.

A laugh, more reflex than anything else, before he's bringing his camera around and just wondering.

There won't be much, but-

"Ricardo!" he jolts, almost toppling backwards off the bench he'd sat at. Seeing a familiar face he brightens up immediately, springing up and to his feet.

"Eyyy! Sparky!" his coworker rolls her eyes at him. "Uh, so does Garsea want me for something?" he can feel the strained smile.

"You've got a story!" she crosses her hands before placing them on her hips and poking at him, jabbing into rib and almost making him yelp. "The interview's scheduled for a week! And let's  _hope_  you stay on track with it this time Ricardo! As interesting as your other stories are..."

"Hey! Hey! Of course I will Sparky! Don't worry about it!" he bounces himself in place and nods his head. "So uh, who's it with?" There's a moment, she stares, before laughing, stepping forwards and swinging an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on Ricardo! Let's get you back to the station. You can catch up there!"

"It's... just another human interest story isn't it..." he groans, and she laughs. Looks like it's going to continue to be a slow week then. "And hey! I've told you just call me Rico!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! It's Rico again! Also, again small bit of cheating. But he was spawned by me and Dara/Elletoria together. So welp. He wouldn't exist without them.


	10. Carla Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You think this troubles me?"

It's a knock on the door that brings her down. Heavy steps on pine steps, the carpet draped over each step like a sunset kiss. The wood of the door looms ahead of her and she stares. Raising her hand up, just barely touching the oak handle, eyes tracing the skull carvings in the wood before she's pulling it open.

It groans, like an ancient gate as it opens. The howls of spirits released from the prison of the frame, and she stares at the skeletons in front of her.

With their backs to the distant twilight sunset, it's like staring at a semi-blurry picture. Like angels they stand in her doorway. One in a dramatic stance, straw-hat like a halo, hair messy and ruffled in the wind, eyes staring with glistening determination, jaw set like stone. Ripped and torn purple jacket draped over small shoulders, like a tight blanket. His suspenders, held up with leather straps accentuate his hips and he shifts.

There's a small groan from the one he's carrying.

Messy hair, fluffy and windswept, but lacking the usual scrappy pony-tail and cap. He shifts, bones bright white against the yellow of the one holding him, and his own jacket, one not familiar to her hangs, limp over his frame, he wears canvas pants scuffed, stained and almost torn. His feet are bare, matching his companion.

"Carla!" the voice is like a song, a call of the wind. "Carla!" she blinks, her eyes looking into those deep shifting ones. So many colours in those wondrous orbs, brown awash with crimson, purple, a touch of blue and the most distant tinge of yellow. It's enough to get lost in, a sea of colour and dancing emotions, a song is in those eyes. A song with a tinge of a broken note.

"Yes Señor?" her voice sings, rolling out into the air and matching his.

There's a shift, a humming groan and her arms are full of a lanky body. Bones jumbling together and she lets out a lilting grumble of her own. Her feet totter, almost stumbling back, but she squares her back and stares at the still haloed man. Sun glinting off his bones like sweet kisses.

"He asked for you!" a rolling voice says, ringing in her stapes and holding her high. Her hands curl, cradling her downed companion like a heroine cradles their love interest after a fight. She can almost smell the battle, blood, sweat and the delicious tears of their enemies. But no, she's not the hero here is she? "So, I got him some clothing, and brought him here..." she hums, nodding her head, much like a bobble toy.

"Gracias Señor, for bringing Rico home." her voice is like caramel, tinged with just that slight edge of broken and burnt cake. Rico shifts in her arms, like a small child just barely coming back from Ixtlilton's peaceful sleep. His eyelids flutter, like butterflies, before painfully opening and-

There's a shuddering beat in her ribs, a tight constriction as she stares down at bleary eyes no longer twinned. One is still that familiar violet tinge, albeit a bit murkier than she remembers, dulled by pain and trauma but the other. A golden burst behind the brown, a tint that she has never seen before, that is starkly off, supernatural and glowing in the back of an eye that used to bring harmony to that smile.

But he's not smiling now, staring around as if he's a newly awakened bebé. New to the world, eyes wide and lost, blown and staring and-

He lets out a breathy sound, something that's nearly words and reaches.

"You won't have any trouble with him, right?" the question draws her back around. Dress swishing and bangles tingling, letting the sound ring out in the air. "He's... I mean I found..." there's a shift, the sunlight burning trails, that glowing halo taking on a fiery glaze that sends shivers down her spine. Crimson eyes shadow like blood pooling in sockets and teeth set themselves firm.

A warrior.

"You think this troubles me?" She tilts her head, a song coming down, that familiar cheeping. Bonita, her tiny companion coming down to land easily in her hair. Perching up behind those bottle glasses she has there. A smile, sharp like daggers. "Oh, no, Señor, Rico's no trouble at all."

Rico shifts in her arms again, collapsing back and letting out a low sound that makes her ribcage ach. There's a softening of the warrior's eyes when they see Rico, the red pulling back, letting the other colours swirl.

"I'm glad..." his voice is soft, like a verbal blanket. "I'll be off then. Good luck." he gives a jaunty wave. Before she can blink, he's leading with one foot, a slight bounce, and gone within a blink, like smoke on the wind. She stares out into the empty space, waiting for him to just manifest again, before Rico slides down in her arms, letting out a hum and shifting.

Now she can see marks.

Chinks from chains, slight char and ash, something barely hidden under his messy hair. In her ribcage a fire blazes, filling her bones. The cry for justice is on her lips, but the warrior is already gone and...

"S'ñor Angel?" a confused mumble brings her down from the clouds, grounding her and giving her a moments pause. Rico's eyes slip shut once more, and she grins. So the stranger was an angel was he, fitting with how the world warped and emphasized him. Praising his steps and aiding him in just disappearing.

She hums a solemn tune, as she turns and steps back inside. Letting the wind slam the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Coco Locos Server's amazing disaster of a character Carla. Belonging primarily to Rainy...
> 
> And honestly... after this, I am never writing anything close to purple prose again... haha.


	11. Kaelin Alastrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But I will never forget!"

If he were anyone else the dark halls would be intimidating. But for so long his home had been little more than a cave. A place where he remained in a near mindless state, consumed by his own emvy, his greed for more. So now, the dark halls and tunnels do nothing. In fact they feel like home. It's like coming home. And distantly a smile coils across his skull, markings dark and foreboding momentarily looking bright and light.

" _If you accept these, that makes you part of our family..."_

There's a swelling in his ribcage, something that gives him pause. A deep breath, just absorbing the damp earthen scent of the tunnel around him. Hands curl, phalanges tightening against his carpals and metacarpals, and he holds back a growl.

Holds back a growl because his markings are only mostly the same now.

The flare on his forehead still green, but now there are a few extra dots, a full ring of them, like a bandit mask around his eyes, and he lacks the cheek marks, finding swirls instead of triangles and a split marking on his chin.

" _Look Zio! Mine look the same!"_

A shudder goes through him, a sharp acute pain, the memory of that choice. He closes his eyes, leaning one hand against the wall. Taking a deep breath, and pushing those thoughts back. That tiny excited voice, the rising swell of emotions he's never felt before, that want, no, the need to protect that small child. To protect.

He takes a breath. Eyes snapping open and a toxic green glares into the dark. He straightens himself up, brushes imaginary dirt off his cloak and pops the collar. Three stones tinkle together, and he strides forwards. It's almost like the shadows pull back, retreating away from him as he glides down the tunnels. There is no uncertainty in his steps.

No uncertainty until he reaches the door at the very end and there.

" _We believe in you! You'll make a great Guardian Seb!"_

He holds that moment, that memory. He holds onto it. Closes his eyes one last time and slams the door open. There's a lot of shouting, people calling and horrified exclamations. He only grins, sharp and fanged and. It's as simple as sweeping across the room. A movement too fast, a fist slammed straight into one guy's skull, ducking under the chair, and spinning around with a kick to the spine.

Swift movements, the thrill of adrenaline as he slams a skull into the metal table and ducks beneath two idiots. He rounds himself around, letting rope and chain spill from a sleeve, catching it around one person's arm and yanking them forwards, smashing skulls together and quickly eliminating each of the five people in the room one by one. He ties each of them up and scans them with a tight expression on his face.

Eyes narrow noticing one conspicuously absent person, he stalks forwards. Close to the nearest miserably groaning person. Messy hair, bright enough markings, pawprint dots and sideways diamonds. He kneels himself down, pulling the boy up by the hair forcing their crimson-tint eyes to meet his toxic green.

"Where is he?"

"You're going to need to be a bit more specific!" the boy spits, eyes narrowed and defiant despite the fact that he's the one in chains and tied up.

"Where. Is. He!" he snarls, thrilling in the flare of alarm in the boy's eyes. "I will only ask this one last time.  _Where is Archer Kingsmen?"_

There's a swallow from the boy, a dart of the eyes to a door in the shadows. He nods his head, a grim acceptance crossing his face. There's a pause, and he looks the boy in the eyes one last time. His arm slams the skull back into the ground, cutting off a yelp of pain and sending the boy hopefully into unconsciousness.

He ignores the others shaking in their bonds and strides back towards the door with a clear goal in mind.

" _Where is he?"_

" _Where's Isaia?"_

Hands curl, a snarl darkening his face again. Hair falls down, framing his face with a malevolent air. A clear goal, a clear threat and he looms there for a moment before kicking the door in. He intends to catch attention, he intends to be clear with his intentions and the reason's that he's here. There are two in the room.

A man in a brace and a labcoat and-

"Archer!" his voice is rough, low and almost inhuman. A growl of fury and rage that the words themselves burn in the air with his hatred. The blond in question snaps around, his own green eyes wide with horror. "You thought you could run from your crime?" he strides forwards, ignoring the doctor until-

An arm lashes out, catching the much shorter man before he can slip around and hurtling him back into the room towards the bookshelf. There's a crash, the rumbling thud and shudder of books toppling down. The cracking of bones, a harsh snapping sound, and the whining of metal under pressure.

There's a moment of silence, before a howl of absolute pain shatters it.

"Now, Now, Succorbenoth!"

"That's not my name!" he slices a hand through the air, stalking forwards, approaching the blond with purpose. "My name, is Kaelin Alastrine!" he snaps, coming to a stop in front of the trembling blond. "And you stole my family from me! You manipulated Isaia, a  _baby_  into doing your dirty work for you!" he glares down at the blond.

Watching the man basically turn his belly up to him.

"You thought time and space would make me forget..." he growls, looming over the blond, feeling the fear. Relishing in it.

" _Zio Kae... I'm... scared..."_

" _Hold on, per favore, hold on..."_

"But I will  _never_  forget!" he snarls, hand lashing out and catching that stupid bow tie, yanking the blond up to face him. Green meets green, each as toxic as the other, one set floods with malicious intent, a rictus grin splitting his face. The other wide with sheer terror, mouth only partially open and tears shining at the very edges of sockets. "I will never forget. Not your past crime and-"

" _ **ZIO!"**_

"Definitely not  _this_ one!" in the distance he can hear sirens. An alarm blaring a high pitched sound that rings in his stapes and rattles his cranium. "Now then, habemus aliqua apprehensa facere!" there's a flare, a swish of his cloak, by the time the familiar blue suited Agents from the Department burst in all there is to find is a messy room.

A messy room and a groaning doctor pinned beneath a bookshelf, with several broken bones, and brace twisted into something completely useless.

On the wall, there's a painted mark.

A symbol, and one of the officers gasps, shock in purple tinted eyes.

"Kaelin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically... this isn't a Coco OC... but... since we've explored an alternative scenario before where they have been in a Coco universe... I'm going to let it slide... and sneak him into this compilation as well. So meet Kae/Seb, another one of Liani's OCs...
> 
> ~~don't mess with this guy's family, please~~


	12. Carmina Ochoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who could do this?"

When Ricardo never showed up for work that first day it sent a thrill of familiarity through her. Which is confusing because she's sure that they haven't really met before. Or at least she's mostly sure, her memories from before her death and around it are incredibly fuzzy. And trying to think back to what it was like when she was alive gives her a sharp painful pounding buzz in her cranium.

It hurts.

So she shakes it away, and she ignores that twist in her stomach.

" _Have you seen him?" she looks up in confusion, looking at her boss before shaking her head. "Strange, normally that boy's appeared by now"_

" _I'm sure he'll be here soon!" she smiles, ignoring the weird feeling._

" _He better be, if he wants to ever be a true reporter!" their boss growls, before peering over her and squinting at her work, grumbling. "Sort all this mess out Carmina! We need that report ready by this afternoon!"_

" _Of course, and I'm sure R_ _͢͏̷̢͝_ _i_ _c_ _̵̡̧͘͜_ _a_ _̵̴̶͜_ _r_ _̀͟_ _d_ _҉̴̢̢_ _o_ _̡͠_ _will be here soon enough"_

She shakes away the distant blurry voices from her head. Shakes away the echoes of a conversation she can't quite place or keep track of. And when that boy bursts in, a few days later, she only joins everyone else in scolding him for abandoning the story he was told to chase. And goes over the information he'd gathered instead.

It's really something and she finds herself staring at the sheets and wondering. But at the same time.

"Ricardo... How much time did you spend talking with Carla?" she gives him a flat look and he forces a grin across his face, rubbing the back of his head just under his cap and over that ridiculous ponytail of his.

"Not that long... you can find most of that-"

"Yes I can see and-" she cuts herself off. "Oh... Ooh!" she feels the grin spread over her face, and her eyes glimmer as she looks back up at him. "Ricardo... can you find any more information about this, Diner?"

"Can I?" he eagerly leans forwards, "Oh Sparky! You have no idea! And hey, call me Rico! Everyone does!" She jolts for a moment, an odd feeling in her ribcage at his words.

_Messy hair frames a face she can't quite see, and there's a bit of laughter, papers held out, a collection of photos and a reel of tape. She's frowning, arms crossed over her chest as she looks at her coworker._

" _Anyway just call me R_ _̶͟͡_ _i_ _̨͏́_ _҉_ _c_ _̵̶̧̕͜_ _o_ _no need to be so formal. Eh S_ _̷̨͢͢͞_ _p_ _͘͘_ _a_ _͠҉_ _r_ _҉_ _k_ _̶͠͝_ _y_ _̀͡҉̧_ _?"_

"Just go get more information Ricardo. I'm sure Alfonzo won't be too mad if you pull through with a full story on this..."

"Don't you worry Sparky! I'll get you the whole story! Just you watch!" he grins, nodding his head and she sighs. She watches as he turns and leaves, a distant ache in her ribcage before she's shaking her head and peering back at the sheets that he'd handed her. It's just a small story about a Diner but in collaboration with something else.

"Well then, I suppose that's really something isn't it..." she mutters, already planning out how she'd approach Alfonzo with the topic. "Everyone does love a good curiosity case..."

" _Ahh, you know him, he's probably found another curiosity case."_

She shakes her head. And ignores the niggling in the back of her head. This all feels very familiar.

* * *

Ricardo comes into work a different time. Hair mussed up and papers scattered in the file he drops onto her desk. He grins as he sits himself down, and babbles about what he'd been through. She only stares at the younger man. Patiently listening as he explains what had happened before she sighs.

"And what about the Maria Project... that you were  _supposed_  to be investigating?"

"Hey! Hey, no worries Sparky!" he waves away her concern, and pulls his stupid camera around, loosening his pack and frowns for a moment. "I got the information that Fonsi wanted. And more!" he gives her this grin, before motioning to the papers in her hands. "Seriously though, check it out. You'll be-"

"Ricardo... you were only supposed to talk to the girls who-"

"Come on Sparky! Just look at what I found." he cuts her off.

" _Just look at it alright! I know, I know I wasn't supposed to but-"_

" _It's not just that R_ _̵́̕͢_ _i_ _͠_ _c_ _a_ _̡̕͟͜_ _r_ _̵̧͟_ _d_ _̛͘͟͞͝_ _o_ _̶̴͜_ _, you don't know who, or what kind of people you might be investigating..." she frowns at the sheets she's been handed, and stares at the boy in front of her. He's pouting and shaking his head._

" _Please, just look at it okay! I-"_

" _Should have at least taken someone else with you if you were going to go investigating strange behaviour..." she growls. "What if he were A_ _̧͏_ _̀͢͝_ _s_ _͏͢͡_ _e_ _̀́͏̴҉_ _r_ _͢͠͠҉_ _i_ _̡̨͟_ _a_ _͏́_ _l_ _҉̵̀̕̕_ _͏̡̛_ _k_ _̷͡͠_ _i_ _͟͡_ _l_ _l_ _̕͝_ _e_ _̨_ _r_ _,_ _͘͜_ _҉̢͢͞_ _h_ _̴̛͘͝_ _e_ _̴̛͝͠_ _̨͟_ _m_ _̵͜_ _i_ _̢͘͟_ _g_ _̵̨҉_ _h_ _t_ _̡̧́̀_ _̵̕͡͞_ _h_ _͏̵̀_ _a_ _҉̵̧͢͞_ _v_ _̢̧_ _e_ _̶_ _h_ _̵̀̀_ _u_ _̵̧͝͞_ _r_ _́̀̀͢͝_ _t_ _̶͢_ _̢͝_ _y_ _̴̛͜͟_ _o_ _͠҉̢͟_ _u_ _̴̨͘͜͢_ _,_ _̷̧̕͜͠_ _̧̡͘͜_ _R_ _̢̧͘͝_ _i_ _͏̡̛͘͘_ _c_ _̧̢́͡_ _o_ _͢͠_ _!_ _҉́̕_ _͜_ _"_

" _Hey! You used the name!"_

" _Not the time... This is serious, learn to stay on task please R_ _̢́͞_ _i_ _͘͜_ _c_ _̷̷̧̧͢_ _a_ _̷̡̧́͘_ _r_ _̡̨_ _d_ _o_ _̧̧̀͘͡_ _"_

" _I'll... try..."_

"I..." she pauses, phalanges pressing into the papers in her hands, before she sighs. "Fine, but this time you'll be the one explaining to Alfonzo exactly why you saw fit to go digging for more information."

"Of course!" he grins at her, and there's something so painfully familiar in that grin. Something that hurts so much. And distantly, she thinks that she can hear...

She winces, pulling back. Turning away from his confusion. She can almost remember.

_She's looking, searching desperately for him. Nobody has seen him for almost an entire month. He might have a tendency to disappear, but this isn't right. Nothing about this is right. She walks around, her and everyone else. Searching for him._

_There are steps behind her, and she turns and-_

She shakes her head. Waves him off and leaves. Staring at the information.

He's gone above and beyond, as always.

* * *

Alfonzo is screaming. Furiously stalking the halls of their station and she keeps her head down at her desk. Ignoring him as he storms around. He's gesturing wildly, ranting at the lack of their apparent best reporter. At least she can had the boy that, despite his tendency for disappearing at the worst of times and getting a little bit off track with his reports. All of his articles are praised.

For accuracy and research and she lets out a huff of air.

Staring at one of the more recent ones of his. An interview with a murder victim and discussing the resources that they have to cope. It makes something coil in her ribcage, a tightness, a dizzy pulse in her cranium. The poor girl only said so much, but there were things in his responses.

She wonder's sometimes.

But for the moment she grits her teeth, tightening her grasp on the pencil and looking around. It's been a good two weeks and Ricardo hasn't-

There's a whine from the door. She's not the only one snapping around ready to scold him if he steps through and-

"CARLA!" Everyone's voices come all at once. Some of them horrified, others already groaning and she's able to see Poncio duck under his desk automatically, followed by a few others. But there's something a little bit off with her as she walks in. She's looking surprisingly grim, and not as airy as she usually is.

"Not her with a crazy conspiracy are you?" someone spits, pushing papers aside while Alfonzo whirls, storming towards her fury clear in his eyes and a tight expression. She ducks her head down.

"WHERE IS HE?"

"Rico won't be coming in to work for a while. He's still recovering." there's a moment where everything falls silent. And people poke their heads out Alfonzo stands there. Looming over Carla who looks up at him with no fear and something in her ribcage pounds.

She's almost dizzy as she pushes herself up. Unsteady steps moving her to stand by her boss and across from Carla.

"Recovering. What happened Carla?" there's a horrible feeling, because she can remember the complaint. The frustration of the florist who they had arranged an interview with. The other patrons who had told them-

"There was-"

"So he's gotten sick! Can't be bad enough to prevent him from holding his camera!" Alfonzo cuts Carla off, and she can see how Carla's expression twists, something dark momentarily crossing her face. "You tell that boy-"

"Señor, I assure you, if he were merely sick he'd be here!" Carla says, something almost exhasperated in her voice. "It is not that simple!"

" _What kind of person? Who could do this?" she screams at the man across from her, he gestures to the room around them with an odd sort of pride. In the background she can hear someone crying, pleading. Begging as fists pound on the door. "Why would you do this to him? To them, to anyone?"_

" _Because... you people don't understand."_

She swallows. Carla's little alebrije starts peeping, making fussy noises as Alfonzo glares down at her. And all she can hear is a ringing in her stapes. A buzz in her cranium and an aching familiarity. There's a pain and she can remember. She can remember.

She closes her eyes, hands curling and she forces herself to take a long deep breath.

"Carla..." her voice is low and everyone around them falls silent. "Exactly what is Rico recovering from?"

"He found himself in trouble" Carla says simply and easily, voice light but with a subtle edge that she finds some solidarity in. "Got himself beat up by some rather mean people. Is recovering from a cranium injury."

"Right..."

"There's a piece missing." And that starts a whole new round of muttering, even Alfonzo looks shocked as Carla nods her head. "So, I'm not letting him wander off until that's a little bit more... filled in." she swallows. Understanding the other's worry, that's a fair reason to keep him home but more pressingly.

"Do you know who done it?" someone calls, and she feels that curl in her ribcage.

" _Who could do this?"_

"Not for certain, but considering who brought him home..." Carla pauses, and there's a feeling in her chest, a familiar echo. A whisper that Rico once brought in. And she closes her eyes, a tight coil in her chest.

She already knows the answer.

"He might have ran into some Bone Collectors."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carmina "Sparky" Ochoa, another collaborative OC, who's partially mine. She's also one who Dara helped spawn, but was further developed and named by Liani.


	13. Gustavo Barros Vegaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Try harder, next time."

Everyone knows him.

The shambling skeleton who would come around seeking all sorts of different things. Objects that he puts to who knows what use in his attempts to cross that stupid bridge. Everyone knows him.

Him and that stupid grin, the all too cheerful greetings, and his stupidly vibrant markings even against the fading bones. Everyone knows him.

Everyone knows him and his stupid ridiculous antics, the way that he refuses to play even though he used to. That nickname.

He grumbles, pushing down the slight glow in his markings when he thought about that nickname. When he thought about that stupid former musician and the nickname together, when he thought about it at all. He can't get those moments out of his head and it's so stupid, it's dumb and he shouldn't be caught thinking about it.

It wasn't even that interesting anyway.

He shakes his head. Pushing those thoughts and moments away, those stupid wide, wide eyes staring at him. A stupid smirk and he just grits his teeth shaking his head. Pushes them down and away and focuses on getting to the Arts District and the warehouse where they're rehearsing.

He's going to be helping with the music, part of the ensemble band. Playing to introduce Frida and Ernesto De la Cruz himself. Or well, he'll be part of the orchestra but really it's all the same difference. He's going to be playing with and for the stars. So he focuses on that, and moves down the streets with a determined step.

Just the slightest bit of swagger.

Because he's one of the ones who's been picked for this.

So he strolls into the warehouse and nods to the others. Fellow band members who're getting their own instruments together. He nods his head to them, and sets his violin case down.

"Any new note sheets?" he asks, more as a cursory question than anything else. The routine hasn't changed for years, only the players. And not to draw his own strings, but he knows the whole ensemble practically from the top of his cranium. He could play his violin part with his eyes closed.

"No!" there're shaken heads all around. "Well, unless you talk to Frida!"

"Sí! She's always got something new!" and he nods his head, although they would have to wait to see what she's even got planned before they can even know what kind of music she'll want, if any.

"So, what time are we practicing?" he taps a hand on the nearby chair and looks around. Watching as some of Frida's dancers begin to arrive. Other artists and workers, people moving around props and slowly the room fills with chatter.

"You feel like starting straight off?" one of the other members asks, and he considers. "Or at least we could do a warm up."

"Sounds good!" he grins, and turns back to his case, carefully running his phalanges down the strings and positioning his violin, just in the right spot by his chin. There's a moment of relative silence. The other violinists settling themselves, their trumpeter giving a small experimental toot, the familiar mocking tone of the trombone.

He rolls his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep breath and gently draws the bow across the strings, pressing lightly and coaxing the music out of the instrument with a kind of casual ease. It's perfect. It's soothing, and he's in harmony with the others as they go through their warmup. There are only a small handful of missed notes and it's all perfect.

It's wonderful.

He almost loses himself in the rhythm of the warmup, before putting his instrument back down and smiling at his bandmates.

That's when he hears a distantly familiar voice, just out of sight. But still loud enough to be heard.

"I promise I'll bring it back!" His face scrunches up, and he tries to ignore the odd feathery tickle feeling in his ribs. It's so stupid. Stupid. He turns his head, ready with a mocking tease in his mouth something small-

And promptly finds himself choking slightly seeing that figure. Bright coloured dress, styled hair. He rights himself and focuses on his violin again. Ignoring the other as he passes by. Still making that promise, hands motioning in awkward circles in the air as he speaks. And with the dress, he finds himself watching from the corner of his eye.

Watching as the other darts away.

Disappearing between one blink and

"You better bring back that dress Héctor!" there's a sigh, and he can already tell, she's probably mentally writing it off. She'll still yell at him later, he can already see that in his mind. But, he still thinks about that.

It's stupid that Héctor can wear one so easily, so casually so-

He closes his eyes, raises his violin and tries to play and put it out of his mind.

"Oi! Gustavo!" he looks up, seeing his fellow musicians.

"tch" he scoffs, before any of them could say anything. Straightens himself out and looks away. "We all know he's going to fail like every year! Whatever he's trying to do. He should try harder, next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our absolute favourite jerk musician from Coco. He counts as an OC? Doesn't he?
> 
> Anyway, the name is sort of a mixture of suggested last names. One from Lora and the other taking influence from Book's fic. So hope you enjoyed.


	14. Griselda Lopez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some people call this wisdom"

It's not an uncommon sight to see him anymore.

An extranjero tonto.

She hears it spoken behind his back. No one even pretends to be subtle about it anymore. And they mock him in other ways as well, using the wrong name on purpose, and she's witnessed him get tripped up in the middle of the streets several times. It's nothing good. But his own persistence constantly brings him struggles.

Whether he's standing on a corner and speaking out about repentance and penance for your sins before the period in this purgatory is over, or he's standing in front of someone and imploring them to just turn back from their course.

Is it any wonder he's mocked.

She can only shake her head as it starts to rain, and he's still out there. Out in the streets and doing his best to try and get someone, anyone to hear his message.

Still, she can't help but find herself somewhat impressed that he somehow continues to find the strength of will and determination to return day after day. To keep going out there and speak until there are no words left. To speak until his mandible must hurt. Of course, while people mostly ignore him there are those who take offense to his words.

She's walking back to her home, carrying groceries when the confrontation happens.

Out of the corner of her eye and with the slight echo in her stapes.

"What in the world are you even going on about this time? Usted estúpido gringo! What even are you? One of those estúpido Witnesses?" There's a larger man, with rather vicious seeming markings, kind of like fangs who's cornered the poor preacher. Hands fisted, eyes glaring. "Why won't you get the message? No one  _cares_  about your stupid message!"

"Señor, I assure-"

"Shut up!" the blond pulls back, and she's surprised he doesn't run, only takes a deep breath. His whole body is trembling as the other man looms over him. "Go run off back to your own world! Nobody wants you here. "Predicador de la Biblia estúpido. Take a look around you! Does this look like some wondrous world, or a burning hell?"

"I can assure you that-" There's a yelp, and she stops. Watching as the larger man cuts him off by lifting him off the ground. A flash of fear, a horror.

"Go home Gringo! Run off to your family!" the man snarls, shaking him before throwing him to the ground with a roughness. He lets out a sound. "Get it through your thick skull, none of us are interested. Regresa a tu salón del Reino. Testigo estúpido"

The man storms away after kicking the curled blond skeleton. Huffing. She watches as the blond shakes for a moment, keeping himself on the ground. All around people don't even glance at him. Or if they do it's with looks of barely contained dismissal. He pushes himself up slowly and she feels a curl in her ribcage as he takes a shuddery breath. Reaching into his robe and fingering something she can't see.

Most likely it's his bible.

She's seen him pull it out before. Use it to speak truths and to try and win people over. He really does act a lot like those Witnesses. The same determination and drive, but there are teachings and sayings that he uses that they don't. And many of them just tend to disappear, lasting a few years before fading.

They're not forgotten, it's a different kind of fade. But it's always odd.

Something strange to see as they'll just settle off in the corner and disappear.

She remembers asking one of them once, what exactly they were waiting for. Many of them barely brushing up with those around them, choosing to still remain separate. The conversation was so odd, it stuck, she asked. Why did they choose to just sit to the side, barely interact and rarely try to sway others to their view here.

"In this place we are all equal. Equal in death where we weren't in life" the man had said, a slight tilt of his skull, eyes and markings so odd and strange almost as if he weren't there. "We are not long for this world, mere shades, held by the Living. And when the resurrection comes none of this will be in our consciousness. As Ecclesiastes 9: 5 proclaims; 'For the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten.' Our real consciousness is long gone." after that he had left.

And she'd watched as he had flickered out. Disappeared as if a mirage. Nothing like what she had heard tell of the Final Death.

This blond gringo though, he acts nothing like them. Preaching much as they do in life, but in death.

She takes a breath, shifts her groceries and makes her way over. He looks at her, blue eyes clouded with hurt, before something seems to tick over in his mind. He straightens, taking another breath and prepares.

"Señor, if it wouldn't trouble you, would you please assist me with my groceries?" he deflates, looking slightly put out before he nods his head. She hands him her bags and begins to lead the way. He looks like he isn't sure how to take this.

There is silence as they walk. And she's distantly glad that he's not trying to speak to her about his message, to clear things up or preach. She keeps an eye on him, barely a view out of the corner of her vision.

Watching as he stares around them, eyes darting and mouth pulled into a line. That determination even with a slight tremble and it makes her take a breath.

"Isn't it a nice day today?" the words are simple, a casual question.

"Uh... indeed." he fumbles over his answer. "It is a rather pleasant day today." he coughs slightly, and she's sure his markings must be lightly glowing, just enough.

"Rather peaceful wouldn't you say?" she glances back at him, before smiling and waving to some of those who they pass. "A pleasant day to get out and meet with old friends and new friends. Get your groceries and out of the house."

"I suppose..." he acquiesces. She sees her house and smiles.

"Here we are, Gracias Señor. Could I trouble you for a cup of tea?" he looks like he's about to refuse before he meets her eyes and crumples, nodding his head almost jerkily. Going into the house she settles him at her small table, and puts the kettle on. There's a period of silence, the two just waiting for the water to boil, before she takes a deep breath. "Some people call this wisdom."

"I... pardon?" he blinks at her, eyes almost owlish. She only smiles, motioning to the comfortably decorated room around her.

"This. Some people would call it wisdom." he screws his face up, and she shakes her head, the kettle whistles and she stands. Sweeping around the room. "Living quietly and peacefully, not bothering anyone around us. People would call that wisdom"

There's silence as she hands him his cup. A frown on that face as he curls hands around it. Peering down, almost considering. She settles herself across from him, watching as he shivers. Finally taking a sip, blue eyes darting to her and she hums.

"If I may... what is it you are trying to do?" she asks, and he pulls his mouth tight. Pressing fingers together and placing his cup down.

"Isn't it clear?" he gestures to the room around them. "This isn't what's supposed to be here. This isn't the afterlife that was expected. No gilded gates and angel choirs, or even fire and flames, demons and torture." he pulls in, taking a breath. "So this must be purgatory, which means you all have a chance and I have been chosen to-"

"Chosen to spread the word and preach forgiveness..." she says finishing his sentence and he startles. She looks out the window to their left. Peering out and watching as some skeletal children race by, laughing and happily playing.

There's some more silence, the preacher across from her frowning, sipping his tea before she takes another breath. Closing her eyes, and shaking her head before looking back towards him. Another sip of her own cup and she smiles.

"But if I may ask, do you believe your own words?"

"Of course I do!" he declares, almost moving to stand. "It is clearly my duty and if I am to be persecuted well... So was our lord, Christ. And it is to be celebrated. It's to be expected and I will face whatever trial is needed."

"But is it needed?" that seems to stump him. "This place may be a purgatory as you say, or this could be it. Either way is it really necessary to prevent yourself from enjoying it, and experiencing this life as it could be?" He pulls in on himself.

"Of course it is... I would-"

"But is that the wise course?" she asks, and his eyes dart. Looking away. He takes a breath, finishes off his cup and stands.

"Gracias Señora... but I must return to my God Given duty and preach the message of repentance." he says, voice firm and resolved. She merely gives him a sad smile. "I will keep your words in mind, but this is the work that I must do. Adiós"

And he leaves. She takes a deep breath, and lets him.

All she can do is offer advice. And be there, to pick him up next time, give him some tea and a conversation.

"May the Lord be with you, John" she murmurs to the now empty room, before drinking the last of her tea and considering what other chores she has to get done. And what else she has on her list of things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another OC curtsy of the wonderful Pengychan and again from the amazing [Bedside Ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545218/chapters/33607626) fanfic. 
> 
> Also featuring John... and maybe a bit of spite/vent... try and spot that, I dare you.


	15. Alma Eligio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought you had forgotten."

It was a rare day that they work up and felt like they were going to be their original gender. It was a rare day that they work up and felt like a man. He stretches out, arms raising above his head and he arches his back slightly. Curling and splaying his hands. A yawn, and he shakes his head, before slipping out of his bed and reaching for his nearby staff.

A hand curls simply around the carved wood, and he swings himself around. Feet firm on the ground and the sun warm on his bones. His staff taps a couple of times on the ground as he shakes his head, before brushing his hair back with a hand and strides across the room to his closet.

Hands fumble for only a few moments, pushing his dresses to the side and pulling out the suit in the back. Brushing hands almost gently over the material, and rubbing it between his phalanges. A dreamy smile crossing his face.

He pulls it on, and finds his brush. Properly taming his hair, and reaching to the glass at the side of his table. A sunflower, he pulls it up, and winds it into his hair, and takes a breath. Today is going to be a good day. It's a special day, an important day. He smiles, and makes his way through his morning routine.

Straightening the small things on his way through the house and settling down for an easy breakfast.

And once he's done, he locks his house after him, and sets off for his shop. It's a peaceful walk, only interrupted in one moment by a small squeaking sound that joins him.

"Rafael!" he smiles, pausing for a moment, letting the small squeaking frog catch up to him. He kneels down, letting the crowd part around them, before lifting the amphibian up to his shoulder and continuing. It's an easy walk, rather pleasant as no one bothers him, and they all walk around him. Leaving him a clear path.

There's such a mixture of floral scents as he arrives at his shop. An overwhelming aroma and array of flowers that he smiles. Just pausing in the front, and not even stepping forwards. Ribcage swelling with pride and awe and-

"Hola Alma!" the cheerful cry sends and jolt through him, and he turns, a frown tight on his face.

"You're not getting another shovel Héctor." he says, and the younger man shifts, a nervous awkward chuckle filling the space between them. There's a small angry squeak from the frog on his shoulder and he huffs. Rolling his eyes in their sockets and unlocking the door to the shop.

Héctor follows him in, footsteps light over the tiled floor and he frowns. Wondering why he's here.

"I was just wondering, considering what today is..." the other shifts again, and he pauses, trying to think what Héctor could possibly have known about the day. It's not like they interact much and he knows it's not his birthday. "Did you want help with the anniversary sale?"

Oh.

Oh! He turns back to the younger man, and considers the question. Considers him. There's an awkward pause and a smile spreads out across his face, a smile that he can tell pulls a relieved sigh from Héctor.

"Of course, Héctor. But you're still not getting another shovel!"

There's a laugh, and he knows that the younger man is rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He shakes his head, bemusement spreading over his features before he just waves Héctor to the till, and reminds him that all he needs to really do is smile.

There's a card in the back.

One that he'd gotten José to help him create. And he wanders back, gently tracing the letters carved into the material. He shakes his head.

The day passes relatively quietly.

There're only a few extra people who come in. Taking advantage of the sale, and he listens adjusting the flowers in the back as Héctor offers some surprisingly accurate gardening advice. Offering simple tips that would help, it's nice. And by the end of the day, he's settled himself in and listens as the former musician lets out a small distant hum.

Something absent.

He lets out a breath, stands and moves over to the man, and ruffles his hair, to a yelp. A small exclamation, before he closes his eyes.

"I thought you had forgotten." he says softly and the younger man makes a sound as he proceeds to the front to finish a final sweep and close off.

"Me, forget, something like this?" Héctor shifts, leaning over the desk he's sure. "No, I... You said it was an important date for you. Can't believe you kept it going for all these years huh. And... mostly on your own."

"Gracias Héctor..." he flips the sign, and takes down the anniversary sale one. His hands curl on the wood, and for a moment it's like standing in his old shop, the one back home, from before. He takes another shaky breath.

"Is there anything else I could help you with Alma?"

"No... it is fine Héctor." he says, smiling. "You can go home now."

"Alright, if you're-" Héctor cuts himself off, springing to his feet so suddenly, he pulls back. Away from the younger man. "Wait, wait, wait, wait! I almost forgot!" he feels Héctor sweep by him, the younger man racing off, before springing back. Something is held out to him and he furrows his brow, confused. "I wasn't sure but..."

He reaches out slowly, and his eyes widen.

"Is this?"

"Sí, I remember that you mentioned that you were curious about the series so... I called in a few favours..."

"Gracias Héctor!" he accepts the book, phalanges running over the braille on the cover and smiles. "I appreciate it."

"I can get you the rest customized as well... if you want..."

"Maybe later" he says, curling the book close to him. A soft smile spreading out. "For now this is enough."

"Alright! I'll see you later Alma! Have a nice evening." Héctor's off with a jaunty cheer and he can only smile. Expression soft as he runs his fingers over the cover again. More surprised than anything else that Héctor would go to such trouble.

He's still not going to ever get another shovel from him.

Alma's learned from that experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another OC of Liani's... it's Alma, their blind florist. Good egg.


	16. Marco Veracruz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is gonna be so much fun!"

Shoes pound on the ground, propelling him down the street as he races towards the Mariachi Plaza. He wants to be there in time for the competition, to see and witness the competition and to just experience the music.

It's something that he can really feel.

Something that rings out and resonates with him, and as he watches the band perform he feels his chest swell. There's this certainty, this knowledge that one day he'll be the one up there in the middle of the plaza performing for all these people. He'll be the one stealing the hearts of the crowd and receiving their cheers and adoration.

Just like his great-great grandfather.

He taps a foot to the beat of the music, swaying slightly before he notices something out of the corner of his eye.

It's that other boy.

The  _Rivera boy._  Staring in awe at the stage and the musicians, holding a poster in his hands. The boy shakes himself off, goes to one of those managing the event and he can hear the kid ask his question. There's a flare through him, sheer offence.

How dare that younger boy think he could perform well enough to play in this competition.

He's just a shoemaker's boy.

From a family that  _hates_  music.

But he watches with satisfaction as the boy runs around and can't get one. He stays for only a little longer to listen to the music, swaying in place before there's an odd twist. A frown and he looks to the side thinking for a moment and just wondering. He wonders what made the Rivera boy think that he could play.

That he could enter this competition.

So he slips through the crowd. Searching for the boy. He finds him curled up slightly under the statue that defines the town. The one that's of his relative. He watches, and can see the younger boy's mouth moving, saying word's that he's not close enough to hear. Abruptly the younger boy gets up, a smirk on his face, and there's a rush of something.

Some kind of jolt, a lure.

So he follows after the younger boy. Creeping through the crowd and there's a realization. He ducks himself down, edging around the crowd for himself and looks the younger boy's way. Watching him approach the memorial.

"Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!" he gleefully cackles to himself as the younger boy gives a quick glance around and rattles the window. There's a burst, a pop of sound. He turns, smiling at the flashes in the air. The fireworks.

He bounces for a moment on the spot, excitedly focusing his gaze up into the sky and on those bright flares of colour in the distance. A grin spreads easily and quickly over his face and he just watches as they burst in the sky. Lighting up the night time.

It takes him another burst, and a distant clatter beneath them before he remembers himself.

Remembers what he's doing. And he spins back around. Just in time to see the Rivera boy disappear into the Memorial. A vicious grin slides over his face as the boy does and he strolls down easily, moving to the window to peer in and watch as the boy gazes with a focus at the guitar. Lightly stepping forwards and moving towards the instrument.

So the little shoemaker's boy wants to play does he?

Well he's the one who's breaking in. Doing the wrong thing, and it's only right that he get a reminder of that. So he turns around, takes a breath and runs off. He runs around the memorial and finds the nearby patrolman.

"Señor! Señor!" he calls getting the man to turn around. "I was by the Ernesto De la Cruz memorial earlier, and the window! It appeared as if someone had broken in!" he claims, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest and looking at the officer. "I saw a young boy there earlier, gazing longingly at the guitar... do you possibly think?"

"Oh!" the man jolts, standing straighter. "Gracias Marco. I'll check it out right away!"

"Oh, gracias señor!" he says, pressing his hands together and watching as the man wanders away. He lets a smirk cover his face, turns away and-

There's a distant strum of a guitar and something seems to ripple through the air, an odd feeling. He shakes it off, and returns to the plaza.

Listening to the music, and ignoring the odd feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another OC Stand-In character really. So here you guys go. _Marco_
> 
> Also, Veracruz because I dunno, I just really like that surname being Marco's... So there you guys go. Credit to the Coco creators for this boy, since he's the Beta-Miguel


	17. Ezequiel "Cheque" del Rio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll tell you but you're not gonna like it."

He doesn't raise his head up as he ghosts his way through the house. He doesn't draw any attention to himself, silent like a shadow against the wall and going mostly unnoticed. It's for the best, at this point if he manages to go unnoticed. Because there will be questions about where he's been and what he's been up to and he doesn't really have any interest in answering them. Doesn't have any interest in talking at all right now.

Not that he really talks.

Stuck with writing down his answers on his little white-board. But it's close enough.

So he wanders down the halls of the Hacienda like a ghost, footsteps light and one hand on the wall as a brace.

Just for balance more than anything else.

A kind of balance anyway. If he's hand isn't against the wall he's not sure what he's going to do. People have gotten the message, the world knows the deal, people know that it's not something that will be tolerated but it still appears that some people haven't gotten the message.

In any of the various forms it's come in.

But those people are fewer and far between.

Although he's personally never been accosted by one, now that was an entirely new experience. And even now he feels his browridge furrowing, pulling in as he reflects on the situation he had found himself in earlier. It was such an oddity.

An older boy approaching him from out of nowhere.

Stumbling over with a kind of distant expression.

He shakes his head. Choosing not to dwell on it. But he still can't help but feel incredulous a complete stranger of an older boy coming over and just dragging him off to have a little chat with him.

And it was a chat, weird as it was.

A talk that was mostly the older boy talking about how much danger he was putting himself in by hanging around with  _that man_ , as if Ernesto were dangerous. It was an experience. And he's not sure how he's supposed to feel about it when he thinks about it. Not sure how he should react.

" _I just don't think that a small kid like you should be doing that?" He peers up at the older boy, trying to judge whether he's serious or not, and there's a frown on the elder skeleton's face. A hand that rubs the back of a head. "It's just... you look like you're a good kid... and he's... really not a good person."_

" _Why do you care?" he writes on his board, and the older boy blinks, frowning at the words and sounding them out in his mouth._

" _Wh- hey? What kind of guy do you take me for?" the teen had jolted. "I have a whole bunch of younger siblings you know... for the most part they're still alive, why wouldn't I care?" there's a pause before the boy sags. "I just... don't you know what that man done? It's just... I dunno, you're a good kid, I just don't want to see you get hurt when you learn he's not a good person..."_

" _It's okay"_

He shakes his head. He doesn't know what to think, and after the boy had left him alone, a jaunty kind of cheerful farewell, with a  _"Hey but I'm not you, make your own choices kid"_  as he left and he has no idea what he's supposed to think about it.

The older boy had been as far as he could tell genuine.

And afterwards, he'd gotten distracted with something else. Or rather someone else. He'd seen the small child out of the corner of one socket. A tiny baby who had ran across the street, eagerly carrying a bundle of flowers and laughing.

Diablo had let out a small yip, catching the much smaller toddlers attention and he'd suddenly found those flowers thrust towards him.

In fact he's almost sure he still has some of them on him. And he's not sure how to take it. The toddler was only slightly easier to deal with than the teenager had been. And the only reason he hadn't just gently shooed the kid away had been a big hulking alebrije that had been right behind the kid, appearing as a hyena.

" _Oh... t'at's Dario!" the child blinks wide eyes up at him, peering back at the alebrije and waving. "He takes care o' me!" he had said before pulling those flowers back and frowning slightly. "Which does broken Señor like?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _The flowers!" the toddler looks up at him again, eyes so wide and innocent. "Señor Broken done bad things... I know, but still, do you think he would like the flowers?" he had stared at the child not sure what to say, even as behind them the alebrije had made a funny almost yipping laugh sound. "Oh... bye!" the toddler had turned and ran off, calling for someone almost too cheerfully as he'd disappeared._

It was... something.

He shakes his head.

Of the two he's not sure how to take either. But it probably doesn't matter. Neither of them meant harm, neither of them were a problem. It's others, other people and encounters, and there are still those few people who haven't gotten the message. And he's discovered that in the background aside that one group there are others.

Other small pocket groups of people who he can contact.

The lower Market District, the Trade Stalls.

He just needed to find-

"Ezequiel!" he winces, head snapping around to stare with wide eyes at the one calling him. He feels the smile that spreads onto his face, the casual at ease kind of pretend smile. "Where have you been this afternoon?"

"Out"

"We know that, but  _where_?" He hesitates for a moment, they know he was visiting Ernesto, and he can say that, they'll be unhappy but aside that. No one else has told on him that he knows, the people running those stalls tend to keep to their own business from what he knows.

And the only other people he ran into.

But... he's learnt.

And he considers the requirements. So he takes a breath. Raises his whiteboard, and writes his answer.

"I'll tell you but you're not gonna like it."

He'll be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I finally read the masterpiece that is "[Down to Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13333533)" so another one of Pengy's amazing OCs is here to feature.
> 
> Also I guess this counts as something of a belated birthday gift, so enjoy.


	18. Sabah Gheata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You should have seen it!"

The winds howl in the far reaches of the night and he stands against the wind. Against it all, with hands on his hood and eyes that gaze out into the air. A slight tilt of the head, a deep breath and a slight narrowing. Blood is to be spilt tonight.

Overhead the moon glows full and the child raises his head up just enough, tilting it back to stare, to be reflected in the moon's eye. A breath in a still chest, and hands that curl and grasp the hood around him tightly. He doesn't want to watch that blood be spilt.

"It's the rules." he mumbles, footsteps light as he wanders down into the town. He pauses just in front of the door to the bar. He knows how he appears. Young a small child, barely passable as a nine year old. And yet. A hand comes up, curling just beneath his hood over two small wounds there on his flesh. Puncture marks that have never, will never heal. His eyes slip shut for a moment, a deep breath.

It's unnecessary.

Unnecessary except by reflex. His eyes remain closed, and he just feels the wind ruffle his cloak and hair. Feels it against his skin, a cold kiss, a shuddering shiver and red eyes snap open. A dark glow in the night before he slips forwards. He practically ghosts into the filled tavern. A shadow of a presence slipping through the crowd.

He sticks towards the back, wrinkling his nose at the scent of smoke, alcohol and sweat, among other scents. It's dizzying in here, with all the voices and cries, the jeers and revelries. Yet he knows what he's here for, and he curls himself down just that touch, red eyes searching.

There.

He feels something in his chest seeing the two. Both of them are mariachi, both musicians, both have destinies greater than themselves. But... both have a bad hand, and one's decision is going to make it, or break it. He takes a breath, focusing on trying to scent them out beneath everything else. All the smoke and alcohol.

"Hey niño! What are you doing here?" he jolts, startled as one of the two men turns around and spots him, there's a moment where he's not sure how to react, and he feels himself pulling back. Feels himself tilt his head back and just look up at the man in the blush charro.

He wants to warn him.

He wants to tell him, but.

"It's the rules..." he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

"Que?" the man moves, such worry in his own shifting eyes and he pulls backwards, a small step, a shake of the head. "Niño? Are you okay?"

"No!" he shakes his head, pulling his cloak tight, and eyes gazing deep into the man's own, a small glance to the other man, and he knows what he's been asked. A breath, a fanged grin, an apology he can't say.

A movement so quick and a scream.

" _You should have seen it!"_ it echoes in the streets as he leaves, a hand over his mouth and hood pulled tight. _"You should have seen it! That wasn't a child"_

Someone gets to go home...

He gets to go home, because even if those are the rules.

"You should have seen it." he whispers the words, a trail of red leaving his mouth as his eyes flare with a glow. "After all, vampires live in covens for a reason..." nothing, nothing is more important than family, and besides that.

He's heard that song, he's not going to rob the world of that life.

"VAMPIRE!" The call goes up behind him, and with a swish of the cloak he disappears into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a serious bit of cheating here... Sabah is entirely my own OC... so what I done instead was combine with my Halloween Short and Sweetie prompt/monster... which was vampires...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


	19. Doctor Squad: Trial, Doctor Gallo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh please, like this is the worst I have done."

In the background there are several videos of footage ready to play. There's a crowd of skeletons who clamour around the building, all of them wanting to get inside and witness what's going on. It's private, but not really, a huge outcry as the shadows of the world are dragged into the fore.

He merely sits on that chair in the middle of the room. His contemporaries around him.

His fellow doctors.

Some of them are more recent arrivals and some as old, or even older than he is. Dark narrowed eyes scan those who're circled around him. There are plenty of disapproving looks going around. And on the faces of some of them, a few horrified looks. Not that all of those around him are even Doctors anymore, or as it would stand, therapists.

His eyes slide to the side, meeting those of the one odd person out.

Or at least she's the odd one out regarding their status as doctors.

Since she wasn't really a doctor, not by the usual definition, but then. There's another in the crowd with the same dubious honor of not really being a doctor. Nearer to the back, staring at the VHS Tapes with shock and a grim narrowing of the eyes. He's just waiting for the real accusations to begin now.

Mouth tightly locked shut, and eyes darting from face to face.

There's a breath, and the first one to step forwards is that boy. He keeps his mouth shut as the younger man, officially a nurse not a doctor takes a shaky breath before gesturing widely towards the tapes and waving an arm.

"And just what is all of this?" he can't help but snort.

"Celio!" he watches the nurse wince, and that heterocromatic doctor steps up, hands on the younger man's shoulders as those eyes look towards him. He watches the other narrow eyes, and in the darkness beyond the younger(but older) doctor something stirs, a big cat with sharp eyes. He's not even remotely scared of the limber feline, rolling his eyes at the display. "But Nurse Berezi is right... what is all of this?" the cheetah spot marked doctor asks.

He remains silent, he's waiting for them to actually accuse him.

"How could you?" okay there it is, a slight tilt of his lips. Just the slightest sharpening of a smile, as finally someone shoves at the least a finger forwards. "You  _murdered_ people! You murdered me!" Hands that press on a ribcage, eyes filled with such hurt and agony. And he can only roll his eyes.

As if that's the worst of his crimes.

As if that is anything more than a single drop or two in the bucket, and as for that accusation. He meets the younger Nurse's eyes, and gives a quirk of the lips, barring his teeth just slightly enough for it to be threatening. There's a small growl, a fox bouncing forwards, curling protectively and snarling at him.

He snorts.

It's hardly the most threatening alebrije in this room.

Not that he's scared of any of the alebrijes in this room. He knows his fellow doctors, he knows each and every one of them, having observed them at various times and he can't be intimidated. One of the tapes is picked up, and his gaze slides beyond Celio, watching as Dr. Ramírez turns the tape over before nodding towards the VCR.

He can tell that some of them aren't the most interested in viewing the contents. Still the tape is slot into the player and before it even begins he knows what's on it. His face draws into a tight line, eyes narrowing as a familiar figure is shown on the screen.

"Is that?"

"Ha! Wow, it is!"

His eyes narrow, focusing on the screen as one of the other doctors, Dr. Garcia he thinks, shakes his head, muttering quietly at what's one the screen. He ignores them, glaring at the skeleton on the screen and just narrowing his eyes.

Just barely watching as...

They really did need to implement something for that the next time they manage to catch that  _Esqueleto Imposible_ , if there is a next time. His eyes slip to the sides, staring at those around him, most of whom are staring at the screen with odd looks. There's an awkward laugh from at least one of them.

The cheetah alebrije shifts, and someone mumbles, the tape finishes, and another is selected.

Again, he knows what's on it, even without watching, and he waits.

"Marcel!" The yelp from the Nurse is far too satisfying, a gasp, a shaken head, as the screen displays another skeleton mocking someone else. "What... what is... no!" there's a snarl, and the younger man spins around. "You got my hermano involved!" it's a declaration more than anything else, and he can feel his eyes roll in their sockets.

"No. He got himself involved." he drawls, not even interested in what's being displayed upon the screen beyond a casual observance of the distant memory.

It's brutal, but not as efficient as it could have been. The nineteen year old more focused on breaking that bar across the tied up captives head than actually keeping them intact. Such a waste.

A waste of time and product.

Someone else steps forwards, department uniform clear and obvious. And he feels his eyes snap to her, snap to attention. A frown, the tape continues playing in the background, his fellow contemporaries muttering about it, analysing it as they go.

They can't help it, he knows. But still.

His eyes meet her's and she narrows them, lips pursing together.

"You are aware that the official trial will go to court in just a few short days right?" she speaks, that voice still as familiar as ever. No nonsense and dry, drawn and stable and he smirks. Fanged grin up at her, as he tilts his head back. "I do not see how you could possibly find this amusing, Dr. Gallo."

"Ahh, but of course, you've seen everything on those tapes already I would assume." he tilts his head again, a twisted crooked smile on his face. "Sure that you know everything now."

"Be serious. Admit it all to us here, and it won't have to go that far." her own teeth are bared now, and in the background he can hear the Berezi boy begin to curse. The cheetah spotted doctor gasps, shaking his head as the tape winds down, and Dr. García takes it out, replacing it.

"Oh... won't it?" he mocks, shaking his head. "I know it will, I could tell you everything you want to know about what's on those tapes, and the other accusations..." he pauses, as there's a scream that starts from the tape.

Horror flashes over her face, and she turns, mouthing a name, and he can only continue to grin. Twisted and gleeful.

"Oh please, like this is the worst I have done."

"What?" she snaps back around, just as Dr. Delgado comes storming back, hands fisted, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

"You!" the cheetah spotted skeleton snarls, a vicious point in his face. "You... those... they're not glass..."

"No... I suppose not." he muses, eyes looking to the side. There's something looming, and his grin grows.

"They weren't ever fake or pretend!" the other throws his hands up, storming away while shaking his head.

"Are you all done?" he asks, causing everyone to freeze. "Because if you are, then I am terribly afraid that I must admit that I have another place to be!" there's a screech and someone curses, most likely the Berezi boy. He feels her, like a shadow she moves to just behind where he's tied with cuffs. He slides to his feet and there are so many rapid shifting looks as that giant raven bursts in.

Shielding them.

He gives an almost mocking tip of his head as the avian spreads its wings and cries out again. There's a moment, and he smirks.

"I bid you, adieu!" he says.

"GALLO!" The shout is barely anything as within a breath, they're gone.

He'll just have to start anew, such a shame the camera was lost and most of their resources. And those few witnesses that they managed to find. Well, they'll have to just keep to the underbelly for a while, and wait until the public finds something new to focus on.

A new scandal.

At least there's already one brewing.

And when that's in full swing. "Executioner!" he snaps, brushing imaginary dust off his coat before popping the collar and spinning around to face her. She stares at him, silent with one hand on her alebrije. "When you get the chance, do be a dear and fetch that rather annoying gato callejero. We really do not need any more trouble after this!"

She merely nods her head, and he takes a breath. Closes his eyes, pushes a grin onto his face, and stalks into the lower areas.

It's time to go find some of his older contacts, and inform them of the Jauría on their trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Dr. Ramírez & Dr. García(Book), Nurse. Celio(Liani), Dr. Gallo(Me, Dara and Frosty working together), Dr. Delgado & Eneida
> 
> And this was the one I was looking forwards to... had a bit of a rough day, but here it is!


	20. Oscar & Felipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hope you have a speech prepared."

There's a bit of a rising tension in the room. An air that everyone can feel, a kind of nervous energy that sets people just the slightest bit on edge. They're all waiting to be called in, or at least waiting for the verdict more than anything else.

Of course, there are other things to watch, and both of the twins are watching. Watching as that stranger paces the length of the hall just outside the courtroom muttering to themself. This odd gringa came out of  _nowhere_  as far as they're aware, and knew the truth the whole time. It's odd, it's strange and the two of them can only watch as the stranger paces.

Muttering words and lines, mumbling to themself, before pausing staring at the wall, motioning with a finger and shaking their head.

Both of the twins exchange a look to one another. There's a pause as the stranger grumbles something, hands moving up into their hair and curling there, and it's Oscar who steps forwards.

"Are you-"

"I am perfectly calm!" they snap around, a wide grin on their face, eyes wild. "I am calm..." they take a breath, actually calming down and awkwardly pull back. "Lo siento. I just, they're going to expect me to say a lot..." Felipe steps up, a slight shift of his feet and their eyes dart to him for a moment.

"Oh, and what is a lot?" he asks, hands curling and they huff out a breath.

"Everything. I mean, I have to explain how I knew what I knew, what I saw, and y'know... everything."

"Well, I hope you have a speech prepared." Oscar says and they snort, a quirk of the lips and an almost cheeky glint in those shifting hazel eyes as they look up.

"Oh who even prepares a speech?" they wave a hand almost dismissive. "As long as I don't repeat anymore of those huge foot in mouth moments from Dia de Muertos I should be fine." they pause, and both of the twins wait as they awkwardly rub the back of their head. "I mean... at the very least I don't think that there's much worse that can be done to me anymore... Imelda already hates me, Héctor's scared of me, Ernesto sees me as a threat... I should have been forgotten..."

"But Miguel's remembering you..." one of the twins says, extending a hand and they huff.

"Yeah..." closed eyes and clasped hands, all three turn as there's a squeak. The handle of the door turning. The gringa swallows, gives them a strained grin and nods their head.

"Milk! It's time to take the Witness Stand!" they nod, give a small tilt of the head, and walk into the room.

There's a pause, and the twins both exchange another look.

"Should we prepare their funeral?"

"Sí"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because OC Stand ins? I dunno, just give these boys some minor love.
> 
> ~~Also minor spoilers? Major, I dunno~~


	21. Pizzicato(Batabrije)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Impressive, truly"

They're a good alebrije, they know that they are. But it's hard sometimes when the whole world seemed to be against their sad skeleton. It was practically offensive really, couldn't the world see how much he was trying?

The pup was trying.

So they let out small annoyed squeaks as again the pup is rejected from the Rivera Colony. It's not fair, can't they see the damage that it's doing? But they can't do anything more than let out their squeaks and roost on the back of his hat, glaring at the Rivera residence as it fades into the distance.

They can't do anything.

So they merely roost and make small grumpy sounds as their person makes his way down into the Shantytown. They can feel the rocks in his bones, the tremble that shakes their world until he's eventually stumbling into this colonies residence and roosting for himself, curling up into one of those hammocks and looking out distantly towards the water.

Towards the lands unseen.

Sometimes they wonder, wishing that they had some way to guide their pup of a skeleton over the sea and through the void. Taking the unseen paths and leading him to a land where he wouldn't have to be rejected by his colony. It's a nice thought.

Impressive, truly. And they let out a small squeak, comforting themself with that. They're a good alebrije. It's not their fault that the world is unfair.

So all they can do is offer their own small comfort.

Taking off into the air and flipping around, letting out small excited squeaks and trying to encourage their skeleton pup to hop up and do something. No reason to slump down and mope, even in the face of being turned away again.

There's a pause, the man's eyes resting on them almost blank for a moment before a small smile crosses his face.

A hand stretches out and they roost upside down hanging from it and staring at him.

"Gracias Pizzicato!" the skeleton says and they let out another chirpy squeak, wrapping their wings around tighter as footsteps approach. A voice calling for their primo. They release themself, flapping in the air and hovering by his head as he takes a breath.

Shaking himself off, he grins, and they land on his hat, roosting their.

There's always next time.

Always next time.

There's a chill on the breeze and their ears and ear-wings twitch. A small sniff of the air, a bark of echolocation, and there's a shuddery feeling. Amber-gold flickering and they let out a startled frantic squeak, releasing themself from their roost and circling their skeleton pup's head.

"Primo?"

"I'm okay!" he stands up, slowly, movements stilted and they can hear the lie. But all they can do is roost. Roost and hope, because they have a plan for this Dia de Muertos. They have a plan, but still.

There's a heavy tiredness in them after that flicker as well, and they find themself needing to curl up.

There's always going to be a tomorrow.

Always.

They close their eyes and let the cheerful greetings and chatter surround them and their pup in the colony. Pretending that there's no worry about fading and losing themselves before that date. Tomorrow will always come.

Whether they're there or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babycharmander's Batabrije design and concept. I might have my own, but I used their one here.


	22. Gloria Rivera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know how you love to play games."

****There's laughter in the Hacienda, children playing and running around, joyously laughing as they run after one another in the yard. She smiles, watching the two of them, running around the hacienda's yard in circles. Her twin tiny sobrinos, running around. She's watching them for the day, giving their parents a break and a day in the workshop.

A breath, and a smile, watching as Miguel races off, cheerfully wishing them a good day.

She's sure she knows exactly where that boy is off to and shakes her head just slightly as he disappears. Racing off to where the foot traffic is, but also, where  _they_  are. She narrows her eyes ever so slightly thinking about them, thinking about the one rule that every Rivera lives by whether they wanted to originally or not.

_No Music_

And there goes Miguel off again, heading straight for the Plaza, crawling with Mariachi.

Oh well, he will learn eventually.

He will learn, they all learnt after all. Music just wasn't for them. So she shakes her head, already knowing that Miguel will be brought home, most likely grumbling, upset about being caught out in the plaza. But she can't be too mad at him yet. He's young, he'll learn.

So she shakes her head, and just decides to focus on her other sobrinos, the twins. Her expression is soft watching them, as they laugh and chase one another.

"Benny! Manny!" she calls, and the two boys look up at her, broad grins on their chubby faces, and eyes sparkling. She smiles.

"Sí Tia?" they both stand side by side, and she smiles, bending over just slightly closed to their level. They both giggle, chuckling at her actions. She looks at them both, her eyes slipping from one to the other, a playful kind of grin crossing her face.

Both boy's eyes light up as she brings her arms around, and playfully gestures with them.

There's a shriek of laugher, and the two of them race off. Both of them clearly waiting for her to chase after them. It's a small game, and she lets them keep ahead of her, keeping them distracted and out from underfoot of the rest of the family.

She does eventually bring them inside, and settles them down with some paper and crayons. Thinking about what else there is. A distant smile on her face. There's a big important event coming that night.

"Benny, Manny... I know how you love to play games." the twins both look up at her, and she stands up. "So why don't we have some fun making a path from the marigold petals?" she can see the petal baskets, and knows that the path needs to be made, and this is something that they can enjoy.

"Sí!" each of the twins reach for a basket together, and glare at one another for a moment, and she lets out a small laugh, before reaching for the other baskets, and smiling at them.

"Alright, come on now!" she smiles, and they both follow her out, laughing happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another canon character from the movie... who can technically count as an OC Stand in... I dunno, my writer brain is tired. So it's just... short. Enjoy anyway.


	23. Sartana of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is not new, it only feels like it."

She's never felt happier, not since Jorge. Going on dates, and spending time with her significant other, causing chaos and disasters wherever they go, burning those who wronged them to ashes and destroying their hopes and dreams. She wouldn't call it love, not when they were both wrapped up in themselves but for once she was happy with someone.

So when he tried to tell her that it wasn't going to work out. When he tried to leave.

"What does that mean?" her voice goes very low and the musician shakes his head, he clearly has no idea what kind of hell he has just invited down on his head, there is no way that this is love but if he thinks.

"I just don't think that we can continue to be in anything more than a professional relationship" he says, voice trying to be soft, to be soothing, but all she can see is red. How dare he, how dare he suggest that they go back to purely professional when he'd been the one to try and get it to go deeper, to go further with their relationship.

Far beyond just using each other as it had been in the beginning.

Merely for revenge on the Rivera Family. Both of them.

The Rivera Zapateros, and the Super family of Riveras from Miracle City. And now he's trying to back out.

Her eyes narrow, her body trembling and she curls her clawed fingers around her guitar. There's a heat racing through her bones. This is not new, it only feels like it. The same rage, an echo of those days, in front of the altar, with a priest right there, so close.

And for a moment she's in that white dress, waiting for the vows to be said.

A villain marriage for villain love.

"I'm sure that you understand" he says.

"Yes! I understand!" she snarls, and he has only a moment to look even remotely surprised before she's whirling on him, and launching herself at him. There's a moment where he's able to scream, before her claw like fingers are on him and she's screaming in her fury. A wordless sound, she's not going to be betrayed like that again.

No, he pushed for this.

So she's only giving him what he wanted.

He screams, trying to push her away and she reaches a hand up, curling it around his neck, forcing him to still, wide eyes meeting hers.

"I understand! You want to LEAVE! Just like he did! You want to abandon our cause, and leave!" her grip tightens and he lets out a wheeze, hands coming up to try and push her away and she slams him, pushing herself off, he turns to run and she grabs her Mystic Guitar and strums.

Freezing him.

"Well NO!" She stalks forwards, coming around to in front of him, a smile full of sharp teeth and edges crossing her face. "You wanted to romance me? Just pretend that it would ever be anything deeper than just business?" she gestures with one hand, and waves to the splendour around them. "You want all of this! My treasures, my power!" she crows, before whirling again, leaving.

Leaving the room for merely a moment, he's not going to go anywhere.

If he tries she'll bury him.

But more, there's someone else here, and she stalks through the halls and down into her cellblock. In two adjacent cells there's a blue haired girl and a skeleton along with a winged xolo dog of an alebrije. She stalks in front of the cells and the skeleton bolts himself backwards, wide eyes staring at her.

"YOU LET US GO RIGHT NOW Sartana!" the blue haired girl screams, moving straight to the bars and shaking her fist. Eyes burning with fire. "When El Tigre gets here he'll kick your butt so hard!" she howls. "Or Señora Rivera will! THOSE SHOES ARE WEAPONS!"

She lets the girl continue to scream for a prolonged period of time, only cutting in when she's sure that she's done.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah, I'm out of words!" the bluehead says looking down. "But Manny will destroy you! And your new pet musician!"

"Yes, Yes, I'm sure he will! But first I need your help with something. You two have experience planning a wedding right?" both of the two in the cells look at each other, judging her expression before glancing at one another again.

"Uh... sí?" the skeleton says as the alebrije with him spins around, panting eagerly and looking from her to him and back again. "Who's wedding?" he shifts, standing himself up and bracing against the wall. Awkwardly.

"MINE!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone expecting this? No, well it's here now, some small bit of Sarnesto...
> 
> -Thanks Aura


	24. Edorta Peña

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know this, you know this to be true."

There's a moment, a single moment where everything just seems to stop. He's sure that he felt some kind of push, a subtle feeling against him before he was leaning too far and the giant prop bell was falling. Crashing down, there's a finality of the clang as the stairs fall in, and the stage collapses inwards.

There's just a moment, a single beat where everything is still.

Everything stops, and his chest heaves. A shuddery breath as his mind ticks over with the slow dawning realization of what's just happened, of what he just caused. Huis eyes stare blankly as people finally begin to move. There are people screaming and shouting, scrambling to do something anything.

And he can see red.

Splatter, a seeping creeping crimson over the floor.

No, no, no! He shakes his head, backing away from the lever. There's a horrific chill, someone's screaming for a doctor, someone, anyone. Calls and cries for help, to assist someone who's long since gone now. There's a horrific twist in his stomach a queasy feeling and all he can see is that moment on repeat, the seeping creeping crimson and yet distantly underneath all that.

There's a soft whisper, a curl of satisfaction, of glee. Something that's not his, and he can feel that pressure on his back, the echo of some other presence.

He shakes his head, and takes a breath. Forces himself to calm down, to think, this is just. This can't be real right? Especially not with that brush of a feeling, maybe it's still the night before the big show, or he's drifted off backstage waiting for it to begin. He squeezes his eyes shut, fists curling and pressing tight, and bites his own tongue.

Trying to wake himself up.

There's a whisper, an echo. And he shakes his head, opening his eyes, and it's still chaos, people screaming and crying. The crowd all riled up.

No, no!

Okay, so it's not a dream, but this is Ernesto right? And the bell was just a prop. There's another coil in his stomach as he desperately thinks about that. Since it's just pretend, there's no way it could be that damaging, surely he'll just emerge any moment now, all dramatic and with that grin. A flare, and a wave to the crowd who'll-

Red.

Seeping and creeping over the ground and people in uniforms, the choas calming down as people are taken aside to talk to the Officers who've come from nowhere. He can only stare, eyes wide, body trembling. His eyes dart to the lever, praying for it to reset, for everything to reverse. Again he sees that moment, the bell toppling down.

That harsh final clang.

This has to be a mistake, a dream, a nightmare, an  _act._ Right? There's no way that this could be the end of Ernesto De la Cruz, at the height of his career.

Hands shaking he draws them in front of him, and he can see a flash of red, a flare of...

_He deserved it..._

He stills, that voice, the echo so soft. There's a chill, a rise in his skin, that shuddery sense that he's not alone here in the corner just out of view yet still able to see those around. He looks around desperately. Shivering and his arms come around to curl, a sense of creeping horror.

No, that's not-

_Life for life, you know this._

He swallows, and turns around, walking further into the shadows and seeking. There, almost in the corner is that gleaming white guitar. The engravings almost look sinister now, and he can feel something more in the air. An echo of something a presence, a shade, a feeling that charges the air, mixes and twists and he takes a breath.

A shudder, a shiver and he shakes his head, looking back towards.

_You know this, you know this to be true!_

"Life for life..." he mutters, not believing it, but whatever else is here. There's a purr from the presence, and he gingerly picks up the instrument. It feels chilled in his hands. Cold as ice, yet burns like fire and his teeth chatter, he curls himself around slightly and walks out of the shadows.

Ready to say something.

_Loose ropes, accidents happen_

He nods.

* * *

Later, when he sits in the crowd of skeletons at the Sunrise Spectacular concert for Dia de Muertos, he'll look back and just think. He'll have another sense of grim satisfaction, an echo of that presence and voice.

And he'll wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring the Stagehand who dropped the bell on Ernesto! With my own name I guess, was suggested by Pengy for today...
> 
> Also small bonus... but enjoy that hint.


	25. Estella Nieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go forward, do not stray."

She wakes up in a passage. Her hands still clutch tight to the held stop sign, and it takes her a moment. Around her is nothing but darkness, and she takes a breath, mind frantically scrambling to understand what had just happened. She'd been waving children across, holding the sign up and then...

Then...

She can't quite remember, but whatever had happened, had happened abruptly and now she's here in this passage of darkness. In the distance she can see the smallest amount of light. Straight ahead. She looks around, to the left, to the right, there's only darkness. She wonders distantly what happened, before shaking her head.

The light calls through the darkness, calling her.

She takes a breath, and steps forwards, towards the light. Only to stop. There's a creeping sense of unease, something is wrong and again she looks around. It's an empty space really, and she's not sure why that bothers her. Another step. Another stop, that prickling unease grows. And she looks around, not sure what's causing it.

She wants to step back, step back into the darkness.

There's a niggling reminder in the back of her mind. She has a job, she was watching over children who were crossing the road. By a school. She was...

A step back, and the whole world seems to  _shudder_ , a momentary chill, and she winces. Eyes squeezing themselves shut and she pulls her sign close as something in the shadows whispers. Distantly there's a flicker, and she opens her eyes again.

That light, somewhere in the dark flickers, only for a moment, like a candle flame caught in the wind.

Her eyes catch on that light, and there's a curl of something, a shiver, and she frowns. Hesitating. There's an odd echoey feeling, and more whispers in the darkness around her. Something shifts, a sliding sound.

Another step backwards, away from the light.

Another flicker and she takes a breath. Ready to turn around, to leave it alone. When something stops her.

There's a creak, the sound of groaning wood and she looks up again.

" _Go forwards..."_

She jolts, head snapping around, and eyes searching the dark. Searching for the source of that voice. Something soft and low, enough to cause her to shiver, and she swallows. There's a feeling of eyes, an itch of something and some kind of expectation.

She almost takes another step backwards, but there's something else that catches her attention.

The shift of her feet, and she takes a breath. Lets herself just feel for a moment, stretch one leg backwards and-

There's only empty air.

A space to fall into behind her.

" _Go forwards..."_

The whisper repeats and she turns her sign over in her hands, shaking her head, and steps slightly to the side. Again, there's that candle flicker motion of the light in the distance. Like a dancing flame, it blinks in and out, but never quite disappears. She shakes her head, a slight step forwards, a wish to move towards-

She shudders, another step to the side, another flicker, another, another. Again she stops. Something screaming in her mind to do so.

_"Go forward, do not stray."_

The voice whispers and there's a curl of something. She finds herself looking, gazing into the unending darkness before again testing for-

Empty air.

A coil is in her stomach and the voice is hushed, like the wind. There's a shift and her hair moves, swaying over her eyes. There's a choice here, and she wants to step off, she wants to let herself fall, but the light calls. That flickering dancing flame in the distance.

Gentle soothing, and she stops.

There's music, and echoing steps around her. She's... not alone in this place.

_"Go forward, do not stray."_

She takes a breath, and forces herself to walk. The light grows brighter, sharper, more focused and she realizes. It's through a door, and beside her she feels walls, barriers. But she doesn't look, doesn't stop until she's there. Staring at an ancient looking door and contemplating her decision.

A breath.

She closes her eyes, turns the handle and steps through to the other side.

Through straight into hustle, bustle and chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another of Liani's OCs... also I have no idea what I wrote... ehh... story of a writer I guess.


	26. Abel Rivera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But if you cannot see it, is it really there?"

Things have changed.

The change seemed to happen practically over the night, of course he knows that's not really true. Even with the surprise of seeing Mama Coco actually remembering them. Recognizing them, it sends a twist in his stomach. A recollection of when he was small. Days when Mama Coco was more aware of the world, soft smiles and gentle warbling words.

It's amazing to see her talking with them, sharing stories, and she's so happy to finally be able to talk of her father. It twists, makes him uncomfortable hearing these stories when for so long even mentioning the man would get them looks.

Get them silenced.

_Do not even mention him, that man is best left forgotten._

And now, that's flipped. And everything else. Music, being allowed. No more secretly practicing out back, with his younger sister being a fellow secret keeper. No longer pretending that they can't hear that ever so faint strumming of a guitar from over the Hacienda.

No more...

No more Ernesto De la Cruz.

And that's a turn around he can't quite comprehend. Even when Miguel was keeping that secret, it wasn't something subtle. He remembers seeing his younger Primo staring longingly at that statue, wonder in those eyes. But now, he didn't try to save the collection that Abuelita had destroyed, in fact he'd destroyed it more, growling, frustrated and upset.

It's odd.

But they settle into a new routine.

New information comes out, more is discovered. A horrific truth. Suddenly he agrees with his Primo's change of heart towards Ernesto, that horrible, horrible discovery. The stolen songs and traces of poison. A tale that they can realize even if there's no way to prove it.

And then Mama Coco dies.

It's a sharp pain for all.

Everyone feels her absence. As slow and distant as she had gotten in that last year of her life. He can remember those days when he was younger. Sitting in front of her and listening to her as she softly told tales. Weary and weak, but with a kind of nostalgia.

It's odd not seeing her.

Even odder that Miguel's not taking it as hard as he expects. They all know that he's close to her. They've seen how close he was to her, so the fact that while he's upset he seems to work though it relatively quickly. It's odd.

There's no reason for him to be so at ease.

Sure there are moments, he catches him staring off into the distance sometimes. Almost absently humming, or strumming his new guitar. Before he'll turn, and realize, pausing and looking so sad before trailing off, and it's odd.

It's not how any of them expected him to react.

So he confronts his Primo. Standing with him and asking, why he's so calm.

"I've seen it." Miguel says, smiling at him. A grin, his one dimple clear as day and he frowns, looking at his primo in confusion.

"You've seen it?" he arches a brow and shakes his head. "Seen what Miguel?"

"The land of the Dead. Remember last year, how I went missing?" he nods his head at the question, and Miguel curls his hands slightly, sheepishly looking away before rubbing one arm. "Well, that's where I was. I was in the Land of the Dead. I met them! I saw them. It's real, all of it!" he splays his hands.

All he can do is stare at his cousin, waiting for the joking justification.

But Miguel just awkwardly grins at him. He's being serious. He's being one-hundred percent serious, but...

He laughs, shaking his head.

"Really Primo?"

"Sí! I was really there, and every year, they visit!" he says, splaying his hands.

"Sure, sure. But if you cannot see it, is it really there?"

"Can we see the wind?" Miguel challenges, a playful smirk and he shakes his head, another laugh.

"Alright, if you say so Miguel." he says, and Miguel's smile turns more distant, his eyes far away. And a gaze off into the space.

"I know... Mama Coco is finally there, with her Mama and Papa." he sighs, and he takes a breath about to ask. "I hope they're happy..." Miguel mutters, and he closes his mouth. He's not going to burst his primo's bubble.

Not going to tell him that there's no real way of knowing.

If that's comforting him, then he'll let him comfort himself with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Rivera family? Here's Abel anyway... and now, bed.


	27. Socorro Rivera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Remember, you have to remember."

"Miguel! Miguel!" A small voice cries out, a young child treading those back halls, searching for her brother. "Miguel!" she claps her hands around her mouth and lets out a small giggle. She looks around, a small frown crossing her face as she can't seem to spot him. A sigh crosses her lips before something catches her attention.

A distant flicker of movement.

She perks up, eyes lighting up and she races in that direction. Calling again for her brother, turning the next corner she stops. Nobody is there. She looks around, down the hall one way, back the other before huffing. No one.

She puffs up her cheeks, turns around and gets ready to just leave before pausing. She tilts her head, able to distantly hear something.

Distantly heard voices.

She turns again, letting out a small sound and her eyes search. Another flicker of some kind of movement.

"Miguel?" her voice is lower now, and she steps forwards. A creeping sense of something wrong prickling at her back. She puts a hand on the wall and creeps down, brow furrowing and lip trembling. The voices are strange, hushed, trying to go unnoticed. She wants to call for her brother again, but something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

There's a flicker, a marigold glow for a mere moment. She pauses, eyes caught by the glow and she looks around.

A small swallow, and she wants to turn around, call for her brother and keep searching the other halls for him. Or maybe she'd go back down the hall she'd come from. But when she turns all she sees is the same. It's the same both ways. All these halls are the same.

Distantly she can still hear those voices. Words not able to be heard though. She takes a breath, eyes watering up slightly as she realizes that she's not sure which way she came from. She turned a corner right? Right, or left, the close one, or the far one? She lets out a small sniff, rubbing at one cheek.

Before pausing.

There're footsteps, another flicker of a marigold glow.

She wants to find her brother. So she takes a deep breath, pulls herself tighter, and steps forwards around the corner. She tilts her head, still not able to see anyone, but those voices are louder. So she follows after them, none of them are familiar, she doesn't know these voices. And that makes her feel funny, a weird bubbling in her tummy. But she still follows them.

Steps light down the halls.

Slowly the words seem to come together and make sense. She can understand them, it sounds like there's a group of people talking about some kind of performance. That makes her perk up, her brother's in a performance, maybe it's the same one. Although these people sound somewhat worried, voices lower and kind of harsh.

But that's a familiar treading of territory.

So she moves a little bit faster, eager to see these people, sure that she can ask them where her brother is.

"Just be sure to get it right this time!" she pulls up short at the angry burst. Something in the tone catching her. "We won't have any more chances after this..."

"I know, I know, but, do we really have to resort to this?"

"You want that opportunity don't you?" she creeps forwards, mouth drawing into a line, something feels really funny and off. "Remember. You have to remember. This might be your only chance!" She steps just slightly around the next corner, peering. There's a group of at least four people, two of them focusing on their instruments, adjusting them.

She frowns for a moment, eyes drawn to the musical equipment before there's a sigh and she looks at the two in the middle.

"I- sí. I understand. But are you sure-"

"Por favor Christián! Do you have to be so hesitant about this? All you need to do is go out there and absolutely capture that crowd. And we'll do the rest back here behind the scenes! Worry about your music! Alright?"

"I..." the more reluctant man, Christián looks away from the larger man for a moment, eyes seeing her, and there's a slight widening as she tilts her head. "I... who's kid is that?"

"Hola!" she offers with a small wave. She takes a deep breath stepping out and that catches everyone's attention. She sniffs, a bit unsure. "Have you seen mi hermano? I want to wish him luck for his performance today!" she says, lip trembling.

"Your hermano?" Christián steps around his companion and the others in the background frown, while she nods her head.

"Sí, mi hermano." she says, eyes darting slightly, peering around, and that's when she thinks that she recognizes someone else from around Santa Cecilia. "Marco!" she moves around Christián, eagerly moving around to stand in front of the blue dressed Mariachi. "I didn't know you were here! Are you performing?"

"Sí Socorro, with the guys here." he says, awkwardly plastering a smile on his face. "Oi! This is Socorro! Miguel's hermanita! We should introduce ourselves." he cheerfully gestures. "And afterwards, we should get you back to the Riveras. Wouldn't want a fiasco like that one from a few years back again huh?" she giggles.

Smiling.

"No!" she claps her hands, and the other band members move forwards, ready to introduce themselves. But she still sees how the forth person pulls back, something in those eyes that she can barely catch before he's leaving. And she just shakes her head, and happily asks them what they're planning on performing.

And if they've seen Miguel, because they still hadn't answered that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Socorro is supposed to be around eight in this... so Miguel off-screen would be... twenty-one...
> 
> ~~Sure hope that nothing bad is going on in the background huh.~~


	28. Eneida Martell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I felt it. You know what I mean."

She is in the crowd when the reveal happens. She is in the crowd of people there to watch the show, only for it to veer straight into what could have been something straight out of a nightmare. The sight of their two guests from the Land of the Living, the Rivera family, the shock of watching that foreigner get swung out and around.

The horrific tearing sound and breath-stealing moment where they just vanished. Even  _he_  looked stunned for a moment. Their pack still in his hands, but with no one hanging from it anymore. It's a moment where the entire crowd is just silent. Everyone can only watch as the once beloved singer makes his declaration, almost mocking. Before he's coming out.

They don't take it. Everyone booing, shooing him off the stage, and when that feline comes back up.

She winces, watching that marigold flicker glow cover not one but  _two_  people who don't deserve it. There's absolute silence as people watch the events on the screen, watch and hold their breaths. Some faint mutters ripple through the crowd, quiet questions and whispers and when that boy disappears, the peak of sunlight, that final fatal flare...

They're still there.

The two of them are still there.

Although that glow still lingers, lingers until it fades, pulling back and she can only let herself sag. Such relief floods her bones, and she feels the way her gaze softens, a smile spreading over her face as the Riveras pull their long estranged member into a hug. The one oddity is that stranger. Still unconscious and out of it, and despite still lingering.

She and everyone else watch as he slips away, eyes slipping shut in the security of his family.

When everyone else surges forwards, questions tumbling over and over into a sea of sound and voices she steps backwards and away. There's already a headache building. They're going to be doing a fair bit of overtime work to try and fix this mess.

Contacting those from alternative afterlives as well to sort it all out.

And...

She lets out a huff of breath, tilting her head back to watch the giant alebrije fly overhead.

There's going to be a trial after all of this. That foreigner's going to have to be involved, all of those in the Department who were involved in Héctor's case will be involved, its going to be two headaches tied together. But as she turns around, and walks away to get herself ready, all she can feel is a distant curl of satisfaction in the knowledge that her haunch that food poisoning was  _wrong_ , was right.

She had been right.

* * *

"And can you explain why you suspected foul play Señora?"

Off to the side the foreigner has remained in the courtroom, after the fiasco from earlier they're still brightly glowing, awkwardly not looking at anyone. She's more than sure they'll be called up again, to expand on that particular  _suspicion_  of theirs.

Once this whole mess is sorted. Deal with the murder part first.

"You're all familiar with the Arrival Procedure aren't you?" she asks, and there's some muttering around them. She folds her hands into her lap. "Some of the routine questions that I asked to be sure he wasn't lying on the paperwork had some rather, odd and confusing answers. Inconsistent with information that we have for other people who experienced similar deaths."

"As in?"

"Food Poisoning is not a quick death, not typically." she states the words plainly, simply. "It typically takes at least a day or more to set in. It didn't match up with his claim of only a few hours." she says, tilting her head, and in response there's a small sound, the foreigner's head snaps up and she meets her eyes with their hazel.

They speak, voice almost hushed. "You had a suspicion, things didn't add up, like the songbook's handwriting verses..." They catch themself, browridge pulling in as they simply stare.

"Sí, things didn't add up. I worked in a hospital before my own death after all." Shaking her head. She answers all the rest of the questions plainly and simply, merely stating the facts and explaining where they could find more information on what the whole department would understand about the situation.

What they know.

Of course, she's more than aware, there are two others here familiar with Héctor's case more than others. José who looks almost like he's going to be sick clutching a packet of documents tight to his ribcage and Èric.

And in the end, when she's dismissed, she makes her way straight to the department to deal with their other issue.

The other headache.

* * *

"DAD!" She watches along with the rest of the department as their newest resident foreigner flings themself across the hall. Straight into the arms of a face that they probably haven't seen for years. Two figures shake, and wrap each other up. And there's an ache in her ribcage as she listens to the desperate muttering and apologies.

The hushed soothings, the way that they rock. Comforting one another as best they can. Before the younger pulls back, rubbing one hand at a socket and sniffing. They turn to her, a watery smile and those eyes reflecting such a deep swirl of gratitude.

"Gracias!" they say bowing their head slightly. As if they're Japanese and she rolls her eyes.

"I was simply doing my job!" she says, voice almost drawling and they laugh, shaking their head.

"Sí. But, I still have to thank you. All of you. Especially since I caused such a fiasco." they look away, awkwardly shuffling before taking a deep breath and huffing it out. "I mean, what with getting myself cursed, causing that trial to be even  _more_  of a mess than it already would have been due to my own suspicions... and...  _dying_." they deflate, closing their eyes and ducking their head. A slight glow to their markings.

She hums, absently tapping her pen against the pad in her hands. Not quite committing to writing down her signature on the form to approve the full transfer of them quite yet. As much as their family is in another Afterlife and they probably belong there...

She turns her head just slightly, able to see the Riveras there, all of them waiting.

"Yeah... I guess... I..."

"Tamara..." there's a pause. They flinch just slightly, turning to their dad with a wobble of the lip. "It'll be alright. You can worry about that all later. It's over now." he says and they sniff again. She steps forwards and they take another shaky breath. He looks at her, looks at the Riveras and steps back. "You're going to be alright..."

"Yeah." they says. "We'll be alright." they say, straightening their spine and standing. "Gracias... Eneida..." they turn to her, something in their expression. "I..."

"You wish to stay here?"

"I... yes, but how-"

"I felt it." she smiles, lowering her clipboard and their eyes widen just slightly, their dad inclines his head. Conceding to their choice. "You know what I mean."

Found family, and besides that. She flips the page, looking at the visitation sheet, and nods her head. They did die here after all, and the one who holds their apparent memory. It's only fitting. Their story's so intertwined with the Riveras now.

"Oh! Oh! Come on, I have to introduce you!" they excitedly bounce, cleared from her and she watches out of the corner as they drag him over to the Riveras.

Things will sort themselves out.

She looks up, something distant in her gaze, a thought and a shake of her head.

"The world's growing more and more connected..." she mumbles, as she signs on that line. Listening to them all in the background, as awkward as the situation remains. The choice has been made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up kind of warping into something of a tribute. Since in 2011, dad died today... and well... Ehh ~~or at least today was the funeral...~~
> 
> I miss you dad... so here's a slight bit of Self-Insert mixed in… and there are spoilers there... oop.


	29. Jesús Ubiña

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At least it can't get any worse"

It's always on their busiest days when something goes wrong. A missing person report is filed, a foreigner has somehow stumbled into their afterlife without the proper paperwork, there's a mix up in someone's paperwork, the system decides that it's going to  _crash_  leaving them to do it the old fashioned way. Some of the Xoloitzcuintlis choosing to act up, dragging their handlers around to who even knows where. Tickets not scanning at all.

It's always on their busiest days when something goes wrong.

So he's not entirely surprised when the inevitable happens.

What is surprising is that it's in the form of a young, living boy arriving to the Land of the Dead. A curse. It's not the worst thing that could happen, not really. With a simple solution. If only the kid hadn't immediately reappeared.

He watches with a relatively blank look as the family interact with one another.

And the boy slips away, "Con permiso, I... need to visit the restroom. Be right back!" and the boy is gone. There's a moment of silence and he tilts his head just slightly.

"Uh, should we tell him there are no restrooms in the Land of the Dead?" might as well play along just a little bit. Especially since now he still has to go through that paperwork and try and figure out  _where_  the family curse came from. Just for archival, that way if it happens again. He watches the family leave, letting out a small huff of breath.

Overhead, the announcement goes out, the Riveras already moving to bring their wayward son back.

As it is there are a few other things of note in the file, regarding someone else. And he finds himself frowning, folding his phalanges over the papers. Before he shakes his head. Time to go through the file, and see if he can figure out what caused this.

Just for the archive.

"Well..." he shrugs, sitting himself down and pulling the first file towards him flipping it open. "At least it can't get any worse" Unfortunately, to his immediate horror, the situation quickly did get worse. Much worse as he turns a page in the file and an alarm blares overhead.

The boy's completely disappeared. Ran off into the crowd of skeletons outside. Alone aside a xoloitzcuintli. He's going to get himself  _killed_. The boy must be loco to think he can find another relative on his own in the land of the dead. He must be loco, then again.

There was that xolo, the one he strongly suspects is an alebrije.

He's assuming that the canine must be able to do something, as it had  _something_  more to it. Even thinking about it makes him sniff slightly, almost ready to sneeze again. He blinks, adjusts his glasses and turns over the file, running a finger down the columns and muttering to himself as he reads.

Another turn over and a poster, a photo.

And there's a pause.

"Could he..." he considers, since whether they like it or not the facts are there and they don't lie. "Is it possible for them to..."

He pauses, mouth a tight line as he considers. Hand tapping on the desk an odd twist behind his ribcage, his eyes gaze at that photo, before scanning the information provided and there's something that's not quite right.

There's some small niggling sense that something here isn't matching up. He shakes his head, and turns the page, ignoring the next poster, supplying information that the whole department already knows. A list of infractions, and incident reports. It's rather extensive as well, and he can only arch a single browridge as he looks over them.

Is it any wonder there's the betting sheet.

Which amusingly enough is shoved in. Still no answers there, so he turns it over, and just focuses, he can worry about it all later. Even if something about all those repeats prickles, something is wrong, it doesn't match up.

A poster drops to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clerk... the one who informs the Riveras of the curse. So here you all go.


	30. Cecilia "Ceci" Reyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do we really have to do this again?"

Their first meeting isn't anything spectacular. She merely follows the sound of music that catches her attention one day. A faint tune in the night. She'd been sewing up a dress for a performer for a show the next day when she'd first heard the sound. She had paused, looked up with a tight frown wondering who was up that late at night playing music.

Sure she's up late as well, but at least she's working.

This sounds more like someone who's just playing. They could have a reason but she is not aware of what it is. Still she finds herself putting her sewing needles down and following the lilting notes. Following their allure to an empty room. A lonely space where someone stands in the middle with their back to her, head bowed and a guitar in their arms. There's a light hum of a voice, words strung together in an almost melody.

She finds herself watching for a moment entranced.

Watching as the stranger sways for a moment, before she takes a breath and marches herself over, ready to demand he explain what he's doing there.

Before she can say anything though, the man stiffens, snaps himself around and offers her a sheepish smile. There's something familiar about him. Distantly, like someone she hasn't seen for a long time, an acquaintance from the streets. She purses her lips as he takes a step back, offering a wider, more cheesy grin.

"Ahh, Hola Senñorita!" he says, and she finds herself rolling her eyes at him.

"What are you doing here?" she crosses her arms, arching a browridge and he shifts, just slightly, pulling the guitar he's holding slightly closer.

"I thought... that it was a place I could practice... without disturbing anyone..." he looks away from her, not able to meet her eyes. "Lo siento, guess I was wrong..." She pauses, a flicker crosses her face before she sighs.

"No. You're fine Señor." he looks up at her eyes wide, and she shakes her head. "I am just finishing off some orders over in the next room." there's a pause, and he considers what she's saying. She watches as a smile spreads over his face, edged by such sheer relief, the loosenng of his grasp on the guitar and slackening of his shoulders. Before he's immediately frowning and peering at her, the questions obvious. "I'm a costurera. I am working on some outfits for the dancers in the performance tomorrow."

The man jolts, eyes widening momentarily. There's a flash of recognition at the mention of one, and he pulls his guitar up again, almost absently plucking a few notes. It's more nervous and she arches a brow, waiting for an explanation.

He mutters to himself, setting his hands, and gently strumming, before shifting.

"Sí, I see..." He mumbles at length, refocused on the music, and she wonders. Shaking her head, she leaves him there, and sews to the quiet melody of a guitar well into the night. The next day, at the show she understands his reaction.

Looking over to the band, she sees him.

That explained some things, but brought up some other questions. How was it that he'd been surprised by when the performance was.

* * *

It takes a few days before he starts to show his more, trickster nature. She doesn't expect to see him again, not when she does. Talking to one of the other people who work at the theatre, someone who's on the props and speaking a mile a minute. She watches with half a mind as he gestures broadly and brightly, grinning at the other skeleton who's giving him one of the blandest stares possible.

It seems to be a routine.

And she turns her head when they sigh, shake their head, before finally responding to him. Pointing something out to him, and speaking words that she can't hear. He beams at them, easily and obviously thanking them before darting away, gleefully. She watches as the prop handler stands there for a moment before shaking their head.

Leaving her with even more questions.

* * *

Dia de Muertos is a fiasco.

For many reasons. With the performance, the rush and the pressure, the short visit to her living family. But the biggest reason it was such a fiasco...

And the main reason was her musician acquaintance.

She's not even sure what he was trying to do.

Not entirely, but arriving to absolute chaos at the Departure Gates is not the most pleasant experience. People are running around, there're voices calling out, people talking and calling, the usual lines are broken and it is chaos. Semi-organized, because people are still going through in an order of sorts.

But something has upset the usual procedure and people are going through their routine in a rather irregular way.

It's only later that she learns that the one behind the chaos was the musician.

And it's not something new either.

Apparently it's a yearly thing.

The jeers sent his way make her frown as he walks through that door altogether too sheepish. He can't return whatever he borrowed. Still, he helps out, and she watches as he listens to the rest of the prop department, and follows instructions that he's given.

In fact, the entire year following, she watches him and notices. Aside the month of October and the first two weeks of November, he tries so hard to just help people around him. To care and to cause as little trouble as he can.

It doesn't always work.

But he tries.

* * *

"Hola, Señorita Costurera" she looks up with a frown as he approaches. Awkward and fidgeting as he stands before her.

"Cecilia Reyes." she corrects him, and he blinks at her, she rolls her eyes. "Soy Cecilia Reyes" she clarifies and his eyes widen.

"Ay! Soy Héctor" he shifts, pausing eyes flickering over her before he shifts. A swallow and she looks up at him, mouth pressing into a line. "You... uh... you aren't the Cecilia Reyes from Santa Cecilia are you?" one hand twitches and she peers at him just that little bit closer her eyes narrowing.

That familiarity and the question, the awkward way he twitches his hands, and offers a too wide grin. Her expression goes flat, the image finally coming together in her mind, and she suddenly understands why she knows this man in front of her.

"Héctor..." her voice is flat, and he winces, pulling in on himself. "You're  _Imelda's Héctor!_ " he shrinks in on himself now and she pauses, there's something that doesn't quite match up here, and she's not entirely sure what it is. But she can now recognize him.

She pulls herself back observing him as he actively seems to try to make himself seem smaller. He's clearly expecting a harsher reaction, but all she gives him is a disapproving look. Mouth tight and eyes narrowed. But there's still something off about it, because he's...

There's something not right. So she just sighs, holds a hand to her forehead and shakes her head.

"What is it you want?"

"I uh... just need to borrow something... I promise I'll bring it right back!"

* * *

"Do we really have to do this again?" Year after year, time and time again. She's watched and gotten a new perspective. Watched as time has taken its toll, watched as he's faded. And every year he's coming up with something new. Sometimes she wonders if he even thinks his ideas through anymore.

Each year it seems more and more paper thin.

And she wonders why she even goes along with it anymore. Why she still endorses this anymore. Supplying him with various costumes or the skills and tools to make those costumes year after year.

The conclusion is foregone, and he grins at her, wide and crooked, with that small bit of a break at the edges and something far too close to desperation in his eyes.

"I promise Ceci!" he curls his hands, making somewhat awkward gestures. "It's just..."

"This might be the last time..." she's heard it before as well, more and more in the past few years as he's noted his own deterioration, and he winces, looking at her with such wide eyes. She sighs, and they both know the routine as he gives her the most relaxed smile. "Don't look relieved yet Héctor... you haven't finished asking for what you want yet!" she turns with her arms crossed, away from one of the outfits she has to finish for the performance that night.

Héctor's eyes flicker, peering past her towards it, and she can already feel the pulsing in the back of her cranium.

It's already going to be a busy night. A  _long_ night, is he really going to...

He opens his mouth and she already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite Seamstress who Héctor loses a dress or two on... One last fic to go now... And then.
> 
> NaNoWriMo right around the corner. Shh.


	31. Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've waited so long for this."

Footsteps echo down empty streets. The sound familiar to his stapes, a sweet melody. He finally has the ability to get what he wants. What he deserves. For a good few years now he's been working, ever since that slap to the face, the image of a stranger in a dress, eyes blazing, slight figure and flowers weaved into the wig of their hair.

The sheer power in that throw.

The broken shards of a bottle, and the dripping alcohol down his skull. He can still picture the moment so easily, and can feel the burn of indignity at that. The fact that moments later the bouncers had come, herded him out with threats of their own didn't matter. There was the simple matter that of all the people to take action it was someone in a dress.

And after he stood for a while outside of the bar staring, there was a moment where he started laughing.

A low sound of disbelief, that eventually got louder, crazier.

It wasn't possible. A slim stranger in a dress, the one to knock him down with a thrown bottle that he'd barely gotten the chance to blink at in reaction. How could such a person be the one who was triumphant over him? So he waited around.

Waited to see more of them.

To find out who the stranger was.

He'd eventually been chased off, unable to get even one more glimpse that night. And even following nights, so he'd fisted his hands, curled them up together and grit his teeth, body trembling. It wasn't right, he worked for the guy in charge, making posters and advertisements paintings and pictures.

Murals.

He has a room documenting them all. His paintings and portraits, a whole room of his artwork. All those he's painted and documented. A tapestry of people who crowd out that room, he takes such pride in it. It's his afterlife's work. Or at least half of it.

The other half is something else, and he's got sketches and art for that as well. Documentations and sheets. And other tools, some of which he has with him for the treat he's going to enjoy today.

He's owed this.

After so long trying to get even a small glimpse.

After so long sneaking around, and only managing to see the stranger from a distance. Others always blocking his way, keeping him out, and chasing him off. He's only allowed near when he's painting up a new poster, or bringing news from his other job. Trading information, since that's his other role. After all, it's all the same in this business.

His footsteps stop, and he raises his head, a sharp grin crossing his face as he knows.

He finally has the means, and the money to get what he wants. He's been listening to the tales, this stranger impressed the one who was never able to be pleased. Got high praise for it, and he's more than aware of the Detective's mutterings. It's not fair. But finally, he will be the one getting what he wants and deserves.

All it cost him was one of his paintings.

All it cost him was a few nights of painting, of staying up with the smell of turpentine and oil paint in his nasal cavity, the streaks of paint that stained his bones were worth it. Because finally he's getting what he deserves. What he's owed.

"I've waited so long for this." he watches as they count the money, knowing that he's finally, finally going to get what he wants.

He's going to see just what makes this stranger work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the flasher from the Tour Guide deleted scene...
> 
> And now that I've just finished a whole month of daily writing... I'm going to do it all again with NaNoWriMo! Thanks for joining me for this ride.


End file.
